


Seven Levels Below

by bunnycloset



Series: Seven Levels Below [1]
Category: Pentatonix, Superfruit
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, Eventual Smut, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:34:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 59,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25365430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunnycloset/pseuds/bunnycloset
Summary: The capital city of Asdria, from the lowest levels, is shockingly colorful. The neon signs lighting up almost every doorway in the dimness of the underworld sends sharp, fluorescent beams shimmering into the air. The hum of the city life and electric street lights cover the lack of bird cries and leaves rustling in the breeze. The light from the sun doesn't trickle down into the depths anymore, not with the steely skyscrapers packing the air and city blocks, trapping the lower levels in the early morning fog. The eighth and lowest level exudes an underlying stench of every activity that occurs on its streets, both legal and very much not. In the figurative heavens, the monarch's palace, located on the edge of the highest level, is so pristine and bright in the reflected pinks and oranges of the evening sunset that thought of the dangerous life occurring beneath it is laughable.
Relationships: Mitch Grassi & Scott Hoying, Mitch Grassi/Scott Hoying
Series: Seven Levels Below [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1867069
Comments: 19
Kudos: 28





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> If you're reading this, then I love you. If you comment, I will love you even more!!! (lol please, I need validation and I've never done this before!)

The capital city of Asdria, from the lowest levels, is shockingly colorful. The neon signs lighting up almost every doorway in the dimness of the underworld sends sharp, fluorescent beams shimmering into the air. The hum of the city life and electric street lights cover the lack of bird cries and leaves rustling in the breeze. The light from the sun doesn't trickle down into the depths anymore, not with the steely skyscrapers packing the air and city blocks, trapping the lower levels in the early morning fog. The eighth and lowest level exudes an underlying stench of every activity that occurs on its streets, both legal and very much not. In the figurative heavens, the monarch's palace, located on the edge of the highest level, is so pristine and bright in the reflected pinks and oranges of the evening sunset that thought of the dangerous life occurring beneath it is laughable.

On the third level, only two levels below the pure, sweet, freshest air the highest of the upper-class enjoys, a young man waits, toying with a pencil as he anxiously watches the room from behind a tiny, rickety desk in the corner of a wide office floor. Mitch glanced up occasionally, his eyes emphasized by tonight's charcoal eyeliner, to peer at the last gaggle of employees meandering their way past him down the staircase at last. The laughs from the young women echoed beneath the high, vaulted ceiling above the platform floor, overlooking the front lobby. He breathed a sigh of relief as they finally left with the door clapping shut behind them and rubbed his neck.

The scar was sore tonight. Even as he shuffled all his papers and tools into his bag, he was aware of the slight twinge of pain down the left side of his throat and along his collarbone, hidden to the rest of the world amongst the sharp lines of black ink he had since camouflaged it within. The incident happened almost three years ago, but the occasional twinge of pain still reminded him of the dangers he faced every day in the lower-city.

He heard the door click behind him as he left and kept his eyes cast down to avoid attention on his way to the city elevator. Even though he was lucky enough to be working in the relatively safe upper-city now, Mitch was well-aware of the confrontation he could face as an obvious lower-city resident. The tattoos covering his small, lean form, silvery purple hair, piercing black eyeliner, and swift pace through the shadows of alleyways marked him to the stately upper-city residents wandering down the streets. Back home on the seventh level, he was able to hide in the crowd, blending in amongst the others, but here on the third, he was privy to catcalls and the occasional brave soul approaching him, only to be met with a pocket knife faced back towards them and the smirk of a soul who had faced much worse and walked away.

The city elevators had large glass windows on the outside wall opposite the doors to let in light and prevent excessive crime from occurring in them. This evening, Mitch had to squint through the harsh rays that lit up the little room and hold his breath against the lingering stench of stale cigarette smoke as he waited out his descent back to the murky lower-city. Sometimes if you look hard enough at the right time, you could see where the other cities began in the distant mist, with the massive platforms hovering in the distance. The little tubes from the trains running between the first two levels to the other distant cities glinted in the light as the room began to sink. The warm, bright colors quickly disappeared behind the steel and mist as the room plunked down past the fourth level. This evening, the elevator didn't stop at any other levels and Mitch was able to ride alone in peace. At the seventh level, Mitch resumed his brisk pace towards his little apartment through the darkness of the streets.

The dim street lights mocked the missing natural light that was hidden from the underworld along the cracked pavement. Mitch glanced up at the fog that covered the base of the sixth level far above the city blocks of the seventh and picked up his pace. If the fog drifted too low, he could be walking blind. He clutched his bag to his side a little tighter. At least he was almost home now.

Skipping steps up to the creaky door of his brick apartment building, Mitch released some of the tension he had been holding in his shoulders. Stumping up the remaining staircases inside, away from the dangers of the street, he was able to take his time. Mitch leaned on his door frame as he fumbled with his keys. Exhaustion after a long workday was starting to hit him as he slid the door shut behind him at last. He kicked off his shoes and stumbled his way to his tiny bathroom to wipe off his makeup before he could pass out at last.

Mitch stripped off his clothes and dumped it in a pile on the floor of his bedroom and pulled on a pair of sweatpants and an old band t-shirt before flopping on his bed. He only had a few hours to rest, and nothing else mattered to him until he got some sleep.


	2. II

The shrill beeping of an incessant alarm blared through the peaceful stillness of the little bedroom.

" _Noooooooo_ ," Mitch whined as he jerked awake. He swung his arm over to the bedside table and flopped his hand around until the traitorous alarm was silenced. Cracking open one uncooperative eye, he peered out from the mass of blankets he had managed to wrap himself up in as he slept.

The little clock sitting innocently next to him read 8:00, but Mitch wasn't exactly pleased about being awake at a perfectly reasonable time on a weekend. He rolled onto his back and stared at the cracked ceiling of his room and debated getting back up. On one hand, his trips into the market, or more accurately, the pockets of the market dwellers, were always much appreciated by his bank account. On the other hand, it was Saturday, precious free time on a weekend, and he wanted to _sleep_.

Kirstie would kill him if he slept through their lunch date, though.

With another groan to ease his regretful limbs out of bed, he forced himself upright and shuffled over to his closet. Now _this_ he could be awake for.

Reminding himself of the dangers in the market, not unlike the one he was about to become, Mitch pulled on a sleeveless button down he had _definitely_ not snatched from the closet of his best friend, thank you very much, and a pair of ripped skinny jeans. A dark blue hoodie with deep pockets offered him some added anonymity. Slipping on a pair of thick soled boots, Mitch stuck a wad of cash into a little pocket he had sewn in next to his ankle, just in case.

Standing in front of the mirror hanging in his bathroom, he sighed as he brushed his long bangs into place. He didn't feel great about continuously picking pockets, but he didn't exactly have much of a choice. If he had a little extra cash, he could afford to pass off his spare change to someone else, or plant a few extra bills in Kirstie's apartment for her to find. She had only confronted him about it once, but he had refused to take it back. She hadn't asked him to stop, and seemed to be content with his market trips as long as he promised to be careful, and he was grateful for that at least. A barely-paying internship had forced his hand eventually when he first tried to stop, but he had done his best to keep it to the very minimum since then. His internship later turned into an actual job with a real salary, but the financial pains of the lower-city continued to plague both him and Kirstie, regardless. It was either a few hours a month spent wandering the market, or it was allowing Kirstie and him to slowly fall victim to debt like so many others.

His rationale calmed his guilt as he made his way out of his apartment and down to the street. The market was several blocks away, which gave him time to take in the unique beauty of the lower world.

Upper-city dwellers may scoff at the lack of natural light or plant life, but the storefronts lighting up the dark with their neon lights and the scattered street lights left colorful streaks along the hazy sidewalks and the passing citizens. Upon reaching the busier area near the market, the street lights were stronger and closer together to mimic the natural sunlight so far above them. The artificial light accentuated the bustle of the crowds as they shuffled together. The market stalls lining the pavement boasted shiny jewelry, freshly baked sweets, long strips of silky cloth, and, of course, dozens of screaming merchants eager to make their own cash.

Slipping into the tumbling chaos, Mitch cleared his mind. It was far too easy to slide the bracelet off the woman's wrist as he pushed past her, pop the pearly button off the back of another lady's blouse in the jostle of the crowd, and even unclip the latch of a watch on a businessman's wrist as he leaned over to inquire about the price of a sweet roll. Exchanging a coin he had slid off the bakery stand's counter back to the baker in exchange for the roll was another simple victory as Mitch walked away with his snack. Munching on the bread in one hand as he left his fingers fly on the other was exhilarating. The bread roll, along with being delicious, was an alibi at a glance for any who noticed a stray brush. Keeping his eyes off his targets once he got near enough to brush past them was a difficult skill to learn, but made him appear much less guilty to the more situationally-aware victims who looked around after his pass.

Mitch kept a steady pace southwards down the street, pushing his way around clumps of people and avoiding the occasional outbursts of shouting from angry customers. Where there was yelling, there was the opportunity for a fight to break out. Picking pockets was one thing, but trying to escape the market, weighed down with stolen goods, when police were scrutinizing the area and trying to find the aggressors of a recent brawl? That was a _little_ bit harder.

After adding another watch he had slid off the wrist of a tall blond man to his pockets, he could feel the weight starting to pull down his hoodie. He figured he still had room for a few more if he stuck them in his jeans, and so he set off at a brisk walk back north.

Three gold buttons and a silver bracelet later, Mitch turned down an alleyway to relax for a minute. The shrieking of vendors and the constant sway of the thick mass of people made him dizzy after a while. Casually setting his hands in his pockets to hide the bulge of goods, he felt out the little treasures he had collected. Satisfied that they could last him a while, he pushed himself off the wall and started back into the market to head home.

This time though, the yelling seemed more frantic and the crowd seemed to be more tense. Mitch was glad he was only trying to pass through to the alley a block down from his resting point, or he may not have noticed the change. Listening more carefully, he could hear a shriek and the tinkling of glass breaking and crunching under shoes. He put more force behind his gait and started moving towards the edge of the street. Right as he was about to turn the corner into his alleyway, he bumped into something. Hard. Mitch stumbled back but a hand caught him and pulled him back towards a wall.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," came the voice of the man he had crashed into.

Mitch recognized the man faintly as the blond guy he had recently swiped a watch from, but what really caught his attention was his voice. The clear, sharp tone of the speaker was an obvious sign that the man was from the upper-city. Mitch realized suddenly that the man had no idea what was about to go down in the market. The sooner Mitch could get himself out of there with his heavy pockets, the better. But the man... Well, he did just save him from falling on his ass in the middle of the street.

"Thanks," Mitch said as he glanced away from the man and back towards the quickly deteriorating chaos that the market was becoming. "You might want to leave, like, _now_."

"I'm sorry?" The man's brow furrowed as he stared at Mitch.

Woah, those eyes are _blue_.

"Shit's about to get real..." Mitch trailed off as he looked back at the man blankly staring back at him. "You know what, just come with me."

He grabbed the confused man's wrist and pulled him down the alley away from the shouting and crashing that had very quickly become alarming. The man glanced behind them at the chaos erupting in the market and didn't fight Mitch's grip as he was dragged away at an urgent pace. Instead he tried to ask, "Where are we—"

"Just walk," Mitch interrupted. "The police will be on their way pretty soon and you _don't_ wanna get caught in the middle of that."

The man nodded in response and followed him back through the shadows towards another larger street.

A few blocks away, Mitch slid around a corner with the man stumbling behind him out of the glow of the nearby streetlights. As he allowed the man to catch his breath, he recognized the nearby shuffling. A quick shush and a hand raised kept the man warily silent as Mitch tilted his head around the corner. He pulled the man back against the rough brick alley wall next to him as a group of heavy set men rapidly clomped their way down the adjacent street. Breathing a sigh of relief as the police continued towards the market, Mitch stepped out and turned to point the man towards one of the nicer city elevators, but was stopped in his tracks when the man pointed towards his neck and asked, "Where can I get one?"

Mitch raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?" Did the guy just ask where he could get a _scar?_

The man looked away, clearly embarrassed. "Uh, a tattoo," he shrugged, studying the ground. "Would I be able to get one around here?"

That made a bit more sense, but _what_? Mitch just stared. A man from the upper-city had deliberately come to the seventh level to get a tattoo? He had worked long enough on the third level to know that the stories and stereotypes of the higher class maintaining a very formal appearance and traditional attitude were not much exaggerated. Not nearly enough for him to not be shocked by a man wearing a jacket that must cost more than his rent to be asking for directions to get a tattoo.

His staring must have caught the man off-guard because the man anxiously started babbling, trying to explain himself.

"Nothing extreme—I would get in so much trouble for that—but, like, well, something small where I could hide it pretty easily? Or maybe I should just get something big anyway and see what happens? Break the stereotype? No, my dad would be furious. I can't do that. I've actually never gotten a ta—"

"Okay, stop," Mitch held up a hand and the man nodded and sealed his mouth shut. "You came down to the _seventh_ _level_ to get a _tattoo_?"

"Uh, maybe?" The man gave a hesitant smile.

"Yeah, sure. Okay. Um..." Mitch thought for a second, trying to figure out where he could send this man without getting either of them killed: the man for being clueless on the lower-city streets and himself for being late to Kirstie's.

The hurried marching footsteps of more police forced its way into Mitch's attention. He whipped his head out onto the main street to see another larger group of men in dark, heavy uniforms running past them towards the marketplace. The brief lapse in conversation allowed Mitch to note that the yelling had not stopped, but had instead gotten much closer.

"A tattoo's gonna have to wait," Mitch ducked back towards the other man, still pressed against the shadows on the wall. "How about you come with me and we'll get off the streets before we figure out this tattoo thing, yeah? The fight's not breaking up and, well I'm not a genius, but I don't think it would do you well to go back to the upper-city with a black eye, or worse, for getting caught in a street fight while trying to figure out how to get a _tattoo_."

The man chuckled and pushed himself back upright. "As long as you don't try to kidnap me or something."

"Deal. Come on."

The man followed Mitch further down the alleyway and into the depths of the city again, letting the screaming and faint smacking of fists fade behind them.

The walk to Kirstie's apartment—Mitch decided his was too far away at this point and he really didn't want to be even more late—wasn't long after their previous escapade through the downtown area, which was very much appreciated by Mitch in the awkward silence. The only things disrupting the quiet murmur of the city behind them were the slight jingle of stolen goods in Mitch's pockets, their footsteps against the dark pavement, and the occasional "ow" from the man as he stumbled on yet another crack in the cement. Mitch tried not to laugh when it happened for the fourth time on one block, but the man must have heard his snicker.

"It's not my fault I don't usually walk around in the dark," he grumbled.

"No, sorry," Mitch grinned as he turned around to face him, continuing his pace backwards. "I'm not laughing at you. I was just worried you were gonna ruin your fancy shoes with all the tripping."

"You're aware that I came all the way down to the seventh level to get a tattoo, which you also know will get me into a lifetime of trouble, and you're concerned about my shoes?"

Mitch shrugged. "Those things could probably cover the cost of my apartment for a month or two. Are they real leather?"

The man squinted down at his feet as they passed under another weak street light. "I really have no idea. They're pretty comfortable though."

Mitch rolled his eyes as he spun back around to lead them around another dim corner. "You're missing out on a lot if you only buy your clothes based on how comfortable they are."

"I guess, but I literally am clueless when it comes to fashion. Besides, I couldn't get _too_ crazy. You probably know how the upper class is with the super specific dress codes for public appearances and stuff."

"You actually have dress codes?"

"Well, yeah. What, did you think we choose to always dress like we're going to an important business meeting?"

Mitch glanced up at the building numbers as they approached the steps of a tall brick building identical to the others lining the block. "Well, I work at a Modernio design studio on the third level, so I've seen quite a bit of your styles. But I've never seen _anything_ from your bunch that's even vaguely similar to our idea of 'casual' or 'crazy' down here."

The man grumbled behind him as Mitch fumbled with a set of keys at the door, "I own sweatpants. That's _casual_."

The door clicked open and Mitch swung it inwards. The lighting in the hallway was low to let their eyes refocus after the dark mist of the streets. He led them up a squeaky wooden staircase to the right of the entrance to a landing offering two doors and knocked on the door to the left. It swung open almost immediately, saving the pair from standing in another awkward silence as they waited.

"You're _late_ ," hissed the young woman that glowered at Mitch before them.

Mitch smiled hesitantly at the much shorter brunette and took a careful step towards her unrelenting glare to give her an apologetic hug. "Sorry, Kirstie. I was a little preoccupied. There was a fight in the market and I ended up taking a bit of a detour." When she huffed a sigh and pulled back to roll her eyes at him, he slid past her into the apartment.

His movement allowed her a second to notice the man waiting quietly on the landing. "Mitch! You've been making friends?" She gasped and waved the man inside.

The man stuck out his hand to shake hers. "I'm Anthony."

"Kirstin. Welcome to my humble abode! Any friend of Mitch's is a friend of mine. Although I was under the impression that Mitch didn't actually _have_ other friends." An amused smirk turned its way to Mitch as she leaned on the door to close it behind her. Mitch had managed to toe off his boots and fix himself a bowl of cereal in the little kitchen behind her during their brief conversation.

"Ouch, drag me. This," he struggled through a mouthful, gesturing towards Anthony with his spoon, "is a very recent development. Long story short: neither of us are dead in the middle of a fight and I got some excellent morning entertainment. On a related note, where do you think is the best place for someone to discreetly get a tattoo at short notice?"

"Yeah, you lost me. Why do you need to hide a tattoo? You have like, 50 or something." Kirstie waved Anthony further into the apartment from where he stood stiffly in the corner.

"Not me, him," Mitch waved with his spoon again.

" _Huh_. Well, maybe Thomas? Oh, but he's closed down right now. His daughter was the one who got her hair stuck in the factory down a level last week, so he's been trying to help her for a bit." Kirstie crossed through the kitchen past a counter and flopped onto a squishy couch in her little living room. She addressed her next question to Anthony. "Sorry for asking but, why would you want a tattoo?"

Anthony shrugged and slid his jacket and shoes off as he followed her over to an armchair. "I know it's kind of unheard of for an upper-city citizen to get a tattoo, but I want to break the stereotype, you know? Plus, my dad would absolutely _hate_ that I did it without asking his permission. I think he forgets that I'm an adult too sometimes," Anthony chuckled.

Kirstie nodded along. "That's cool. Mitch just gets his tattoos for fun when he's bored."

"Nuh uh!" Mitch called over another mouthful of cereal.

"Mitchell, if you're going to be eating all my food, you better not be spitting it all over my kitchen too!" Kirstie yelled back, breaking the serious facade Anthony had assumed as he grinned. "Besides, I'm talking with _Anthony_ here, wait your turn if you would rather snack than converse with us."

Anthony and Kirstie turned back to their conversation as Mitch ate the last few scoops out of his bowl and placed it in the sink for later. He propped himself up against Kirstie's counter to unload his pockets as he listened to them moving on to passionately comparing their favorite movies, prompted by the movie "Tangled" being paused on Kirstie's TV.

The shiny silver bracelets he had managed to collect today looked promising as he set them down in a nice row on the counter next to his long row of gold buttons, but they fell to the back of his mind when he pulled out his next prize.

"Oh _shit_ ," Mitch gasped as he held up Anthony's watch. Kirstie and Anthony looked up quickly at his exclamation and he let out a nervous laugh as he shrunk down next to his collection.

"Is that mine?" Anthony held up his wrist, apparently just noticing it was bare now.

Kirstie burst into laughter across from Anthony. "Nice job, Mitch."

"Uh, sorry?" Mitch held it out to an amused Anthony, who slid it back on his wrist and leaned back in his chair, scanning the rest of Mitch's trinkets laid out.

"That's... pretty funny, actually. How long have you had it?" He seemed genuinely curious, not nearly as furiously angry and accusatory as Mitch had expected.

Mitch tentatively shrugged. "Well, I think I grabbed it by the baker on the south side of the market, the one with all the bagels? I would have given it back, I swear! I completely forgot I had it!"

Anthony just grinned at him. "I guess our running into each other was a good sign for me then. I got out of losing my watch and getting beat up in a crazy brawl thanks to you."

Kirstie gasped suddenly. "Mitch! I completely forgot!" She jumped off the couch and ran down the hall into her bedroom. Mitch and Anthony exchanged a confused glance before she came racing back into the living room with a shoe box. "I only remembered I had these when you mentioned the bagels! I ordered them from the bakers' niece a week ago, but they're a bit too big for me and I thought they might fit you!"

She opened the box for Mitch and Anthony to peer inside. A pair of bright red stilettos laid on a paper lining.

Mitch laughed. "Damn. Those girls are _fine_. I don't know if I could walk in those things without breaking my ankles though."

" _Pleeeeeease_ Mitchy. Please pleasepleaseplease pleeeeeease try them on?" Kirstie batted her eyelashes at him.

"You just want to see me fall!" Mitch laughed as he pulled them out and set them on the floor hesitantly.

Kirstie squealed as he stepped into them. "They're gorgeous!"

Mitch slid his feet in and hesitantly took a few steps. "They're nice."

"Don't lie to me. You love them."

Mitch did kinda love them. They fit just right so he didn't have to worry about them falling off his toes every time he took a step, and they looked amazing on him, if he did say so himself. He took a few more steps back towards the living room when suddenly his balance betrayed him and he stumbled.

For the second time that day, hands caught him midair and helped pull him back upright. Mitch looked up at a smirking Anthony and laughed.

"Well, maybe I need some practice before I hit the clubs, but they have promise."

Anthony's smile didn't waver as he shook his head. "Is everyone in the lower-city as fun as you two? Because if so, I am _never_ going back up by all those snobs."

Kirstie grinned a blinding smile at him. "Honey, stay as long as you like. I don't think either of us could survive a week straight up there. Speaking of staying, we were gonna order some pizza for lunch. Any favorites?"

"Oh, I don't want to intrude on any plans—"

Kirstie cut him off before he could get too far. "It's not intrusion if we want you to stick around. Besides, I need someone to help me convince Mitch that pineapple doesn't belong on pizza."

Mitch's jaw dropped open as Anthony grinned back at her and nodded, "Well, you aren't wrong."

"I can't believe you two! It is a _classic_! Kirstie, you've never even _tried_ it!"


	3. III

Two pizzas, an obnoxious sing-along of the rest of Tangled, and a failed attempt to get Mitch to attempt to dance in the heels later, the three were collapsed in various stages of laughter as Kirstie gasped her way through telling the others about how she had been asked if she could dye someone's dog's fur the same atrocious green she had been dyeing the owner's hair at the salon she worked in.

Anthony fit in with the two like he'd been there for years and honestly, Mitch may be staring just a little. Kirstie kept glancing at Mitch every now and then with a little smirk on her face, but what could he say? He was just appreciating the fine art that was the solid chest in a form-fitting turtleneck in front of him.

Anthony had somehow managed to change the topic of conversation to the moon. Mitch and Kirstie had rarely been above the third level, and never late enough or with enough comfort to stop and appreciate the sky. Trips up to the upper-city that weren't for work were short excursions, usually in the relative safety of midday.

"It's just so bright when it's a full moon! It's so pretty, and you can basically see enough to read outside with it lighting up the sky. And all the twinkling stars next to it are just so peaceful..."

"I wish I could see it," Kirstie sighed wistfully. Mitch agreed, but—

"We should go tonight! I can't promise that it'll be clear enough to see, but at least you could try." Anthony looked so excited at the prospect of showing them the starry heavens for the first time, Mitch hated having to be the one to remind him about their different classes. Kirstie glanced over at him sadly and he knew that she was aware of it too.

"Anthony... Uh, we can't really do that. We can't just walk up to the first level to look at the sky. We have to show our purpose of travel to go to the top two levels, and there's no way they'd let us up there to see the moon, no matter how bright it might be tonight."

Anthony frowned. "Since when? I thought inter-city mingling was highly encouraged."

Kirstie laughed gently. "Sure, when it's you guys coming down to the fifth level, maybe. They don't want us dirtying up their fancy streets."

Anthony grimaced. "As much as I'd love to not believe you, that definitely sounds like something we would do. I'm really sorry guys. I'll figure out something."

"Meanwhile we still have to figure out how to get you into a tattoo parlour without making headlines," Mitch changed the subject to something a bit less depressing.

Anthony groaned. "I still don't know what I want to get."

"You don't have to get a tattoo," Kirstie said. "You're already breaking 'traditional stereotypes' by hanging out with us."

"No, I really want to," he nodded. "I wanna have a permanent reminder of down here, how it's a completely different world, you know? I just can't make up my mind about putting something on me forever. What if I hate it in like, a month? I don't want to walk around regretting it for the rest of my life. Besides, it has to be something innocent enough that I can't get in too much trouble for getting one."

"You don't have to show anyone," Mitch grinned. "You could get it somewhere no one would be able to see. Then it wouldn't matter how innocent it is..."

"Mitch!" Kirstie glared at him.

"What? We both have tattoos you can't see."

Kirstie squeaked. "That makes it sound bad! I swear it's just on my shoulder."

"Mine's not," Mitch winked. He didn't miss how Anthony's eyes glanced down.

Kirstie cleared her throat. "Well, if you don't mind, I'm still here and very much not interested in hearing more."

"Spoilsport."

"Do that in your own time, preferable in your own apartment."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Anthony chuckled at their bickering. "I know I've already said this, but I really wish more people up at home were as fun as you two."

Mitch and Kirstie dropped their teasing glares and smiled at Anthony's comment.

"You're not too bad yourself, Mr. Blue-and-Yellow-Make-Purple." Mitch managed to say with a straight face before snickering.

Kirstie broke back into laughter as Anthony's jaw dropped.

"No! You are not holding one tiny little bit of confusion against me!" He cried, clearly fighting a smile to maintain his offended tone. Mitch did not let his gaze drop to Anthony's jawline as he turned to pout at Kirstie for "encouraging Mitch". Not at all.

When Anthony excused himself to go find Kirstie's bathroom, Mitch was not surprised when she pounced immediately.

"Where did you find him and how do I find me one too?"

Mitch just rolled his eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about."

She just leveled her gaze straight back at him. "Are you seriously telling me you haven't noticed the eyes he's been making at you? He's been staring at you the whole time."

"Oh, please. He's probably just looking at the tattoos and brainstorming." Mitch held up his forearms and wiggled his fingers to show the little cartoons and doodles covering them.

It was Kirstie's turn to roll her eyes at him. "Girl, if he's just looking at your tattoos, then you're just admiring his sense of fashion, not his arms. And I don't know when I've ever seen you admiring the clothing of the upper-city."

Mitch felt his face start to burn. "I don't know what you're— _what is that?_ "

The sounds of heavy thumping were carrying suddenly from the hallway outside of Kirstie's apartment. The stomps stopped abruptly outside the door, giving Kirstie just enough time to stand up and take a single step towards the door, before the apparent guest banged on the door three times.

"Who's that?" Mitch asked.

Kirstie hesitated next to him at the counter. "I don't know, I wasn't expecting anyone—"

The thuds rattled the door in the frame as a rough voice yelled, " _Open this door, NOW!_ "

She jumped and took a step back, shooting a frightened glance at Mitch. Mitch shot to his feet and reached out towards her, panicked thoughts of break-ins and the variety of criminals that could be just feet from them, when the door crashed open.

Kirstie screamed and Mitch jumped in front of her at the sight of several burly men standing in thick, black uniforms at the threshold. Two of the men turned and stood guard in the hall. The one in front, a tall man with dark skin and the largest biceps Mitch had ever seen, drew a pistol from his belt and advanced into the kitchen.

"Where is he?" Serial Killer #1, as Mitch labelled him, raised the gun slightly.

Behind his back, Kirstie whimpered and pressed closer to him. Mitch raised his hands and tried to take a deep breath. "Look man, we don't know who—"

"Save it! We know he's here," #1 snapped.

"You're already facing major consequences, just hand him over." Serial Killer #2, another tall, dark skinned man with a shockingly low voice, followed #1 into the kitchen and reached for his own belt.

Mitch tried to take a step back, but Kirstie was still behind him and he only managed to knock her into the couch.

She screamed again as she tumbled over onto the floor and #1 and #2 immediately swung towards the sound and aimed their guns at her. Mitch lunged back in front of her onto the floor, landing hard on his knees.

Anthony chose this as the perfect time to walk back into the living room.

"Sorry, I couldn't figure out how to work your sink— _What the hell?_ Kevin?" Anthony did a double take at the scene and froze at the end of the hall.

Mitch took advantage of Anthony's distraction and helped Kirstie sit up and wrapped his arms around her to try to calm her shaking. He turned his head back towards the confusion behind him as Anthony unfroze and planted himself in front of the pair. #1 and #2 immediately dropped their arms back to the floor.

"Your Highness," #1—Kevin?—started, "We're here to escort you back to the palace."

And just when Mitch thought he couldn't get more confused.

"What part of that involves _breaking into an apartment brandishing guns?_ " Anthony seemed fairly upset as his new frantic gesturing was introduced.

"Sir, you've been missing for—"

Anthony ran his hands through his hair, ruffling up his perfect quiff, not that Mitch was distracted by it for a second because _what the hell?_ This is _serious_ , Mitch. _Get it together._

"And that gives you permission to, what? Hunt me down and threaten anyone that's seen me?" Anthony was definitely pissed now. He had lost all his soft cheeriness and was standing tall with his arms crossed firmly in front of his chest. "I am a _grown man_. I can go off on my own without bodyguards following my every footstep!"

Mitch took a deep breath, and decided to intervene. "Um, can I ask what's going on?"

Anthony swung around and the hostility he had been rigid with a second ago faded. He huffed a sigh and dropped his arms. "I'm so sorry guys. I'll make sure they don't try to press charges or anything."

Kirstie sniffled and raised her head. "I guess we'll have to have a raincheck on binging Netflix then."

Anthony gave her a sad smile. "Yeah, I'll just... go..." He gestured behind him awkwardly with his thumb as he glanced between them.

Whatever disaster of an expression must have been on Mitch's face caught his gaze and they just stared at each other for a few tense seconds.

"Your Grace?" Kevin asked cautiously.

Anthony opened his mouth, but shut it again quickly.

"Scott."

Maybe-not-a-Serial Killer #2's voice echoed in the silence and Anthony jumped.

"Right, sorry. Uh, leaving now." He broke eye contact with Mitch and turned away.

Mitch watched as he slid his shoes on and walked out of the apartment without a second glance. The two armed men just nodded at Mitch and Kirstie before following him out and they swung the door shut behind them.

Mitch took a deep breath and turned to Kirstie. "Are you all right?"

Kirstie took a shaky breath and stared up at him. "What the hell just happened?"

"I have no clue."


	4. IV

Mitch ended up staying the night at Kirstie's. Sleeping on a couch wasn't the most appealing to him, but neither of them wanted to be alone after the crazy mess the afternoon had become. The next morning, he woke to the sound of a cupboard closing in the kitchen.

"Sorry! I was trying to be quiet," she whispered.

Mitch rubbed his eyes. "It's fine. I have to get up at some point, don't I?" He stumbled over to the counter and plopped himself onto one of the stools. "Do you have any cereal left?"

Kirstie laughed. "Nope! You, my dear sir, have eaten all of it. I have some yogurt out though?"

Mitch accepted a bowl and spoon from her. He picked at it slowly as he looked at all the jewelry still organized in little groups in front of him. When his fingers slipped and he dropped the spoon back into the bowl with a little clang, it prompted a harsh jolt from Kirstie and a quick glance towards the door.

"Sorry..." She sighed. She looked exhausted as she turned back towards him. "Should we talk about what happened?" They hadn't discussed the events last night and Mitch was obviously right to still be concerned about Kirstie. If she was willing to talk though, he would listen, so he nodded.

"I watched the news last night. Couldn't sleep. Apparently 'Anthony'," she added finger quotes, "isn't who he said he is. The hosts were talking about some scandal in the palace last month, and it turns out Mr. Handsome is actually _Scott Hoying_. As in, the crown prince."

Mitch stared at her for a second as the events and comments from the previous afternoon clicked together in his mind, then dropped his head into his hands and groaned, "Oh, _shit_."

"What?"

"I stole the crown prince's watch yesterday. And showed him my not-so-innocent collection of other items I got from the market. Amongst other things."

He wasn't expecting laughter. A strong response, maybe some comforting words, an assurance that Kirstie didn't think it was a big deal, sure, but not this. Mitch raised his head and gave Kirstie a betrayed pout.

"Sorry! Sorry..." she gasped for breath. "Just, that's what you're focused on?"

"What else am I supposed to be focused on?"

"Oh, I dunno, maybe the fact that the future king totally has the hots for you?" Kirstie smirked as she ate another spoonful of her yogurt, back to her usual cheery self, or at least a good impression of it.

Mitch glared at her.

"I know I teased you for staring at him a lot, and I really can't blame you, but I didn't even bother trying to flirt last night. He had eyes for one lady here, and it wasn't me."

"Kirstie..." Mitch groaned. "Please. He's the prince, and we barely got marriage equality four years ago." He ignored her snort. "Why would he pay attention to someone from the seventh level, anyway? There's probably a million better choices up there. Let alone, choices that could actually continue the royal bloodline."

Kirstie leaned over the counter to give him a pat on the shoulder. "I'm not going to argue with you about this until the argument is about the best way to ask him out, not if he's interested."

Mitch scowled and turned his attention back to his yogurt. While Kirstie gossiped about so-and-so forgetting to restock whatever hair products and the blame getting thrown around the salon, Mitch let himself think for just a minute about Antho—Scott.

Why had he introduced himself as someone else? Sure, it can't be easy trying to keep a low profile as royalty, but it was pretty clear neither Mitch nor Kirstie had recognized him enough for a name to matter. Did he not want to stay and hang out with them? Had Mitch actually unintentionally kidnapped the prince? He seemed like he'd been having fun though... _Mitch_ sure had fun. Scott had been such an easy presence with them. He slotted right into the little group like he'd been there for longer than just a few really, really nice hours. Who knew one little tattoo could be such a great conversation starter?

The tattoo! Mitch had completely forgotten about it.

"Mitch. Have you heard anything I just said?" Kirstie's voice jolted him back to the present.

"Uh, do you want me to say yes?"

Kirstie was getting really good at rolling her eyes at him, Mitch noted.

"Sorry, I just... What's he gonna do about the tattoo?"

"Why don't you go ask him?"

Mitch balked at her suggestion.

"And how do you suggest I do that?"

Kirstie smirked at him. "Well, since you asked so _nicely_ , you may recall his fancy jacket?"

Mitch nodded. "What about it?"

Kirstie's smirk turned into a grin as she pointed to the coat hooks by her door. "It's hanging right there."

Mitch spun in his seat, and sure enough, there it was. He looked back at Kirstie, who was somehow calmly finishing her yogurt. His shocked silence prompted her to add her bowl to the slowly growing tower in the sink and turn back towards him with a sigh.

"What you're going to do is walk yourself home, take a shower, find a nice fancy outfit, and put on some makeup. Eight hours later when you're satisfied with how you look," she paused to raise her eyebrows and make it clear he was not allowed to actually stall for eight hours, "You're gonna grab the jacket and take your cute little butt up to the palace. Figure out who you need to talk to in order to get yourself in the same room as Scott so you can give it back and, more importantly, ask him if he wants to go to dinner with you. When he says yes," she paused to glare at Mitch when he opened his mouth to argue that she couldn't tell him for sure that Scott would agree, " _When he says yes_ because he wouldn't say no after all the flirting you two did last night, you're gonna go wow him with your hilarious personality and charm. Bada bing, bada boom, you get married and live happily ever after with your genius bestie to thank."

"Kirstiiiiie," Mitch groaned. "I'm not going to ask out the crown prince. At the very least, I'd want to know him a bit better before committing to something."

"...I can respect that. But, I don't have to like it. You have two minutes to finish that yogurt and go before I kick you out. No more stalling, Mr. Pouty-Face."

"Yes, _Mom_ ," Mitch resigned himself to a long Sunday before he dutifully returned to his breakfast and listened as Kirstie launched back into the salon drama he had missed before.


	5. V

Three hours later, Mitch found himself standing just outside a city elevator on the first level in his best impression of upper-class fashion, squinting in the bright sunlight and desperately trying to convince the city guard not to send him back to the lower-city.

"I don't care about your jacket, there's _no way_ I can let you wander around up here without an actual purpose."

So much for trying to tell the truth.

"Please, sir. I already _told_ you," Mitch groaned, "it's not mine." He held up his black mini backpack containing the coat. "I swear all I need to do is go to the palace and return it. Then I'll come right back here and go home. I _pinky promise_ I won't go causing trouble." The guard didn't seem impressed by the offered pinky. "What do I have to do to convince you to let me go?"

The guard sighed and rubbed his forehead. "I'm not letting you in without proof of business. I'm sorry, but those are the rules."

Mitch huffed a sigh. He wasn't getting anywhere unless he actually got his feet moving soon. He glanced around and noticed an alleyway halfway down the street behind him. "Sir, don't you think you should be more concerned about those two over there?" He lifted a finger towards a young couple strolling down the street behind the guard.

The guard snapped his head over his shoulder and called out to the couple, who glanced over and slowed. Mitch didn't hesitate at the opportunity and he ran.

When he slid into the alley—another damn alley—and flattened himself to the wall, he listened carefully for the sound of footsteps and the clanking of shifting weaponry on a fancy uniform belt. When nothing approached his hiding spot in the time it took him to catch his breath and swipe his hair up and under a hat he had stowed in his backpack along with the jacket, he deemed it clear to move along.

Just to be extra careful, he exited the alley on the other side and lifted his chin as he pretended to know where he was going. His silky red shirt tucked into black dress jeans blended in perfectly with the expensive outfits the other pedestrians wore, despite both having been sewn together in his living room, much to Mitch's smug delight. His large black hat and sunglasses served to both hide his condemning hair and help him adjust to the midday brightness the first level offered. It seemed like everything was reflecting the sunlight up here.

How did these people survive without going blind?

Mitch could see the palace between the skyscrapers as he walked towards what he guessed was the northern end of the city block. The palace was massive in the distance already, and Mitch was beginning to worry about how he was going to get inside. The Capital was not likely to be lax on protecting the lone government building of Asdria, let alone the home of the beloved regents. The ruling family, the Hoyings, really were approved of by the citizens, even down in the lower-city. Of course, Mitch had heard (and occasionally participated in) a lifetime of complaints from his fellow downworlders about whatever political issues they had with the king and the most recent laws affecting them, blah blah blah, but King Rick was kinder and far more productive than his father had been, and the people were aware of that.

It didn't stop them from whining about every little thing they could blame on them though.

Mitch snapped out of his thoughts when he realized his feet had done all the work for him. He tilted his head back at the massive structure in front of him. The palace really was huge. The pale marble gleamed in the sun and set it apart from the steely skyscrapers reflecting the clear blue across the rest of the first level. The building was built on a raised platform hovering just slightly above the edge of the northern border of the city, accessible by a wide staircase bridge spanning nearly a full city block. The stairs rose up to a sidewalk that surrounded the entire palace and provided a clear view of the sheer enormity of the building. The marble walls of the building rose at least four stories all the way across the view from what Mitch could see. A massive dome shaped extremity in the center, at least two stories tall, sat atop the rest of the building in the center, marking the location of the Senate meetings. A tower reaching above even the Senate rose from behind the dome, making Mitch wonder how wide the palace was as well. One other little detail of the structure caught Mitch's eye: the security. And how it was everywhere.

Luckily for him, his ever trusty feet had somehow managed to bring him not only to the palace, but also to the line of a ticket booth. A quick glance at the sign on the sidewalk next to the booth told Mitch that there was a tour starting soon. Of the palace.

 _Excellent job, feet_ , Mitch thought to himself with a smirk. If he actually managed to pull this off, he was going to get a pedicure to thank them.

Purchasing a ticket made Mitch glad that he had thought to exchange his goods from the market that morning and fill up his pockets a little bit more before coming up here. This better be worth it, 'cause mommy just spent a good wad of cash. The bouncy lady from behind the stand seemed to be willing to make the cost worth it though as she ushered the group of tourist upper-class families, elderly sightseers, and one group of teenage girls who kept muttering about a stupid school project towards a large door.

Once inside the walls of the palace, Mitch was able to pull off his sunglasses and stow them in his bag again, relieved at the much more tolerable lighting of the interior, despite the large glass windows brightening the hallway they stood in.

Mitch let his gaze wander as he observed the arched ceiling, dangling tapestries, and patterned carpets spaced out down the hall. The tour guide was chattering away at the group about the history of the palace and the meanings of some of the sculptures occasionally placed opposite the massive windows. As Mitch's gaze panned down the hall, he noticed the group of girls was eyeing him from a few paces ahead. He realized with a start that without his sunglasses, his eyeliner once again exposed him as a resident of the lower-city. Oh well. It's not like there was anything he could do about it now.

The group shuffled on into another massive room, this one clearly a valuable library. The tour guide reminded the group to keep their voices down as they walked through the center aisle towards a large door in the back. Mitch breathed in the scent of the musty old tomes and relished the darker lighting away from the large windows. He wondered how old the books in here must be if they had to be kept away from natural lighting. Maybe he should have been paying attention to the tour guide lady.

The group continued on into another hallway as the lady blabbered on about changes made to the marble stonework of the original structure of the building. This hallway boasted a large crystal chandelier hanging in the center of the room over another large, round carpet. The twinkling of the crystals as they reflected the light of the overhead lamps reminded Mitch of the stars Anthony—no, _Scott—_ had been talking about yesterday. Maybe Mitch wouldn't figure out how to find Scott and this would be the closest he would come to ever seeing stars for real. A pang of sadness shot through him at the thought. He wanted to see Scott again. Not just because he was cute. He was funny, and considerate, and _damn_ smart, (except for maybe the whole purple thing). He had gotten along so well with Mitch and Kirstie yesterday... Was it too much to ask that they could maybe, at least, find a new friend?

It had just been the two of them, Mitch and Kirstie, since the incident that resulted in Mitch's scar. After that, Kirstie and Mitch had mostly kept to themselves. Kirstie had begun making more casual friends at the salon and around town recently, but Mitch didn't exactly get along that well with the others at Modernio. They didn't like him, with his makeup and bright hair and obvious queerness. He was the only staff member from the lower-city, and was well-aware that he was probably only hired to show how "diverse" the Modernio staff was. They never actually talked to him, unless they were asking him to grab some coffee for them or deliver a design or file to someone else. Honestly, Mitch didn't even know if they were aware that he wasn't an intern anymore. At least the job gave him an opportunity to be creative. He actually got to have access to the materials that the very successful fashion studio had to offer. It wasn't like he was working at their head studio on the first level, but he had a secure career and was glad to be able to create. It would still be nice if he had someone to talk to at work, though. Or even after work. Kirstie usually ended up working a later shift at the salon, so her nights were often filled with her own job while he sat around in his apartment and pretended he was fine with the company of just a stray cat that sometimes napped on his windowsill.

" _Mitch?_ "

The sudden voice startled him. Dropping his eyes from the chandelier, he realized that the tour group was whispering excitedly ahead of him as none other than the prince himself stood frozen a few feet from another door.

Woah, it _actually_ worked. Now what?

Mitch waved awkwardly.

Scott suddenly surged forwards and crossed the rest of the hallway until he was once again right next to him. He turned his head away from Mitch and called to the tour guide, Mitch assumed, "He's with me. You can continue."

The tour guide smiled brightly at him with an, "Of course, sir!", and ushered the awestruck group into the next room, much to the chagrin of the young girls currently giving Mitch massive scowls, leaving the pair in silence.

Scott turned back to Mitch as the door swung shut. "Follow me," he waved Mitch along as he started towards another door, "We can go talk somewhere a little more private."

Several more long hallways later with more windows that made Mitch wish he'd left his sunglasses within reach, Scott stopped in a smaller room that mimicked a living room, if the designer of the room had no upper limit on their budget whatsoever.

"Hi." Scott turned towards Mitch as he closed the door behind them. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, uh," Mitch replied intelligently as he grabbed at his bag and swung it off his shoulder. He glanced up at Scott as he tried to unzip it and was slightly reassured to see Scott looking as awkward as Mitch felt. He pulled the folded jacket out of the backpack and held it out to Scott. "You forgot this at Kirstie's yesterday... uh, Your Highness."

Scott's face scrunched up. "Ew, no. Please don't call me any of that. I'm just Scott to you. And Kirstie." He reached out nonchalantly to take the jacket from Mitch and looked down at the cloth in his hands. "So, uh, how are you then?"

And just like that, Mitch was pissed. "Oh really? Just Scott, _huh_? Who's that nice guy I met named _Anthony_ then? Was that the _nice guy_ who decided to hang out in Kirstie's apartment for a few hours and listen to us talk about our personal lives yesterday? Or was that the guy I should be calling ' _sir_ '?" The shock in Scott's face at Mitch's raised voice was honestly pretty pleasing, although it did make him feel a little guilty. He wasn't done yet though. "Do you think _Anthony_ knows people who break into other people's apartments randomly to find him, or do you maybe know people like that too? _Hmm_? Do you think _Anthony_ would care that his friends scared Kirstie so bad that we didn't talk the rest of the night? That she was shaking so bad I ended up staying the night just to make sure she was okay? God, you have _no_ clue what she's been through, and you don't even _care_ what you or your friends or _whoever the hell they are_ did." Mitch crossed his arms at Scott and set his best glare on him as he waited for a response.

Kirstie may not have asked him to do this, or even vaguely hinted at being upset at Scott for the whole incident previously, but Mitch had known her long enough. She deserved better than to be the second concern, especially after the whole ordeal Scott and his pop-up entourage pulled in her own home.

Scott, to give him credit, did look pretty ashamed. His head drooped and his ears turned red as he listened to what Mitch had to say to him. He set the jacket down on a coffee table hesitantly when it was clear Mitch was waiting for him to talk. "You're right, I should have made sure she was okay. I _really_ am sorry about that. The breaking in AND the lying. I just... I guess I thought I was making the right decision to protect my identity. I shouldn't have lied to you though, especially not Kirstie after she just let me into her apartment and hosted dinner. Is she alright?" The concerned puppy dog eyes were pretty impressive on him, Mitch had to admit.

He sighed. "Yes, Kirstie's fine. Shaken, but we've had worse." Mitch's brain, at that moment, decided to remind him what he had just done. "Oh, God. I can't believe I actually just did that. I'm so sorry!"

He must have let the panic from yelling at the future king, what the absolute _SHIT_ Mitch, show on his face because Scott shook his head and raised his hands to signal for Mitch to calm down. "No. You had every right to. You two possibly saved my life, gave me a place to lay low for a few hours, offered me dinner, and honestly, were some of the best people I've ever known to hang out with. I owed you at _least_ my real name for that. And I definitely owe Kirstie a really, really nice dinner at some point. And you!" His face went very red, very fast. "Of course you too! Um, obviously because like... you both..."

Mitch cut him off with a laugh, relieved that their casual attitude from last night was resurfacing. "Don't hurt yourself. Apology accepted. From me at least."

Scott breathed a sigh of relief. "Ok, ok. Thank you. Honestly, I don't know when the last time someone yelled at me was. That was almost refreshing."

Mitch raised an eyebrow at him. "I wouldn't suggest trying anything like that again. You hurt Kirstie like that one more time and you will be losing your pizza night privileges."

The way Scott perked up at his words reminded Mitch of an excited puppy. "You'd let me come back again?"

A smile tugged at Mitch's lips. "You gotta apologize to Kirstie first. But I get it wasn't entirely your fault, and besides. Second chances are a nice thing to do. And I'm a very nice person."

"Says the guy who just yelled at me."

An exasperated glare back at Scott had him shutting his mouth before any more teasing could be directed at Mitch. With the air cleared between them, it was much less tense. Now it was just a little bit awkward as Mitch tried to avoid touching anything more than absolutely necessary to sit on an expensive couch. But that was just part of the Classic Mitch Experience, he reasoned with himself.

"Are you busy this afternoon? Do you need to leave soon?" Scott looked thoughtful, and maybe a little eager.

Mitch shrugged back at him. "Not really. I wasn't sure how long this would take, or if it would even work, so I left my schedule open. Why? Do you have plans?" Great. That didn't sound invasive or uncomfortable at all.

"Well," Scott needed to stop with all the puppy dog eyes, "I may have possibly put some of my work off yesterday to go make other plans, so I have a bit left to do right now. But it's all just boring paperwork and I wouldn't mind some company if you're interested?"

Mitch hesitated for a second. The puppy dog eyes were piercing his soul again, but... "Is that even legal? For me to be there if you're doing official prince-y stuff?"

Scott shrugged at him. "I don't know. Probably not, but I won't tell if you don't tell. Besides, it's all so boring. Pleeeease, Mitch?"

"Sure. It can't possibly be as bad as filing reports in the studio for the others when they're too lazy to do it themselves, or even bother telling me the correct information so I can do it."

Scott led them through a maze of hallways and seemingly random doors until they stopped in a wide office. Mitch filled the silence with renditions of his many difficult coworkers' requests for him, accompanied by dramatic gasps and "No!"s from Scott. It was almost therapeutic as he lounged in the plush black executive chair, separated from Scott by a massive oak desk.

Several more stories with Mitch's sarcastic commentary left both men nearly in tears as they were bent double, laughing over the desk filled with stacks of official looking papers and trying not to mess up the piles. Scott wiped his eyes and scribbled something on the bottom of another paper and set it off to the side as Mitch fought to regain his breath.

"Doing paperwork has literally never been more fun. Thank you so much." Scott grinned at Mitch. "Do you really have to work all the time, or can I hire you as my personal entertainment?"

Mitch rolled his eyes at him. "Girl, you would get so sick of me. And there's no way you could persuade me to quit my job. My coworkers may be nightmares, but I love getting to make things and design all day. It's definitely a step up from working two jobs when I was still an intern."

Scott's face scrunched up, but he was interrupted by a knock on the door. He sat up straight and Mitch tried to mimic him quickly. "Come in!" he called.

Mitch recognized the man who opened the door as Serial Killer #2 from yesterday, the tall guy with the super low voice.

Scott relaxed as he saw him though, so Mitch hesitantly leaned back in his chair. "Hey, Matt. What's up?"

Matt informed Scott that he was "requested to attend dinner" soon with a bit of a sarcastic touch to his message. Mitch relaxed a bit as he contemplated how funny this Matt guy could get if he wasn't working. Or how low his voice could go.

"Crap! What time is it?" Scott leaped out of his seat, prompting Mitch to stand as well. "Maybe that wasn't as efficient as I thought it was," he laughed as he saw the clock mounted on the wall across from him. "I'm sorry, Mitch. I didn't realize it had been two hours already."

Mitch twisted to see the clock too. "Wow, that chair is really comfortable. I didn't notice at all."

Scott grinned as he walked around the table and gestured for Mitch to follow him. "Here, I can walk you out before I have to go to dinner. Thanks, Matt!" He waved as he led Mitch out of the room and back into the maze of hallways.

A quick goodbye and wave as Mitch pulled his sunglasses and hat back on and exited the building left him standing outside and alone in the early sunset. Scott had promised to come by for dinner at Mitch's apartment some time that week before he had run off to meet his family, so Mitch knew he'd be seeing him again soon. But damn... He wouldn't mind being able to see him again a bit "soon"-er.

The walk back through the first level was quicker than his initial wandering earlier as he tried to find the palace. Mitch was also very glad that the same guard wasn't standing post at the city elevator as he squeezed in with another group of travelers heading down.

The rest of the evening was spent lounging around his apartment alone with the stray cat, who decided to show up that night, and missing the cheerful banter from his promising new friend.

The next morning as Mitch dragged himself across the office floor to his little rickety desk in the corner of the studio, he froze in his tracks with his coffee cup raised half way to his mouth. The massive black chair sitting behind his desk was new... and very familiar. Plopping down on its deluxe cushioning brought a smile to Mitch's face that wasn't very common until that coffee cup was usually drained. A note stuck to his desk in front of him read, "Hope your day goes a bit better with this to help pass the time! :) —S.H."

It very much did.


	6. VI

That night, Mitch was lounging on his couch, watching cartoon reruns and stuffing ramen in his mouth when he heard the lock on his door click. Confusion registered first with his furrowed brows as he whipped his head towards the sound, half-forgotten noodles still hanging from his mouth and chopsticks poised above his lap as the door swung open. When Kirstie pulled the door shut behind her, Mitch was not reassured in the slightest. He had guessed that it must have been her, as they both had spare keys to each others' apartments, but why she was here right now was a mystery. While their schedules lined up well to give them nearly the full weekend together each week, Kirstie often ended up working late at the salon and Mitch (grumpily) waking up early to spend normal office hours in the studio at Modernio. Any spare days when their schedules randomly lined up were known about in advance and filled with dinner or shopping trips, not usually waltzing into each others' apartments unannounced.

"Uh, hello?" Mitch slurped the noodles into his mouth quickly so he could respond to the intrusion.

" _Mitchell. Grassi._ " Oh, _shit_. "Did you or did you not go all the way to the palace to accuse the _crown prince_ of breaking into my apartment and disrespecting my honor, _to his FACE?_ "

"...Maybe?"

Kirstie rolled her eyes at him once again. She was gonna need some sort of corrective eye surgery at some point unless Mitch could figure out how to stop prompting that response.

"In my defense, he was all like, 'Oh hi, Mitch! Great to see you today? So how was your evening after my friends broke into Kirstie's apartment, scared the shit out of you, and I left without an explanation?'" Mitch scooted back on the couch so he could see her better as she toed off her shoes and dropped her bag on the rickety little kitchen table. "How did you—"

She stopped him with a stern gaze. "So little old me is at work, reorganizing the lotions in the back because someone is noseblind and can't figure out the difference between mangos and apricots, when my manager comes over and informs me that a very large donation has just been given to the salon under the condition that I take tonight off and get dinner with the tall blond guy that dropped off the check. So naturally, I'm a little confused and frankly, a bit terrified, so I stick my head around the corner and guess who's at the counter." Kirstie flops herself down into Mitch's lone, squishy armchair and leans back, continuing her story with expressive hand gestures. "So, long story short, Prince Scott Hoying _himself_ took me to dinner tonight at a restaurant on the first level overlooking a park—an outdoor park with a _pond_ and _ducklings_ —and paid for the entire thing. He started out the entire night with a very detailed and heartfelt apology that had me tearing up before the appetizers arrived. And he also happened to mention how this was not unprompted and he owed you a sincere thank you, since you apparently reminded him to get his head out of his ass and think about others."

Mitch winced. "Sorry, Kirstie." He didn't regret it though. Scott deserved it. Mostly.

Her face softened as she relaxed into the cushions. "Thank you, Mitch. But next time, don't lead with a verbal assault on the future king of Asdria."

A hesitant smile worked its way onto his face. "I promise I will try to refrain from cursing out members of the royal family from now on." He raised his pinky and sealed the promise with a shake from Kirstie's own pinky. Pinky promises are valid. Take that city guard.

"Onto lighter news," Kirstie wiggled around as she tried to resettle herself amongst the uneven padding his armchair offered, "During the _fabulous_ dinner which may or may not have been the best meal of my entire life, Scott and I had a very long and interesting discussion about just about anything we could think of, which included me mentioning how snacks are always welcome when we hang out at my apartment every weekend."

Mitch perked up quickly at that. Scott was coming back on weekends? Kirstie's snort interrupted the chorus of _yayayayayayayay_ coursing through his head.

"And because I am such a good friend and the _best_ wingwoman you will ever have, I may have also told him the address of your apartment and your work schedule so he can join you for dinner whenever he wants, to 'brainstorm tattoo ideas'. Which I also assured him could be every day of the week and you would have no complaints."

Mitch groaned and buried his face in the throw pillows as Kirstie cackled at his embarrassment. "Did you have anything nice to say about me that maybe played down the whole clingy, lonely, grumpy, etc. version of me you seem to have established?" he whined.

"Mitch, in case you haven't noticed, we spent at least half the dinner talking about you. I won't say I gave him the shovel talk, because I'm waiting for you two to get a bit more _involved_ first, but I laid down some beginnings for it. He was a bit hyper-focused on you, too. Don't worry."

Mitch sighed and dropped the teasing banter for a moment. "Kirstie, I _really_ like him. And I don't just mean he's nice to look at, I mean it's only been two days and he's just _so_... I don't want to try for a relationship or something and end up having him leave in a few weeks when I screw something up."

Kirstie leaned forward and reached across his little coffee table to grab his hands. "You won't mess anything up. If you want to just keep him as a friend, then I support that. If you decide you want to jump head over heels into a relationship, I support that. I will back you up no matter what your choice is, and if he ends up hurting you, I will do exactly what you just did yesterday and barge into the palace to give him a piece of my mind. Royal blood be damned."

Mitch's eyes got progressively more misty as she continued and he sniffled as she squeezed his hands. "Thank you, Kirstie." She leaned over the table to embrace him, and he clung on as the sniffles continued.

When he was satisfied that his sudden wave of sappiness was under control and he leaned back, Kirstie smirked at him gently. "I do demand to be given all of the details, though."

Mitch chuckled. "Like I could possibly keep secrets from you. Now shush. If you're not even gonna bring snacks then you gotta be quiet and watch Spongebob."

Kirstie scooted from her delicate perch on the edge of the chair from their hug over to Mitch's side on the couch as they cuddled up under a blanket to watch Squidward slowly lose his mind.


	7. VII

Three weeks later, Mitch is having some serious deja vu. Scott's there instead of Kirstie, Mitch's hair is now blonde instead of purple, and they're definitely not cuddling under a blanket, but Spongebob is on again and the mood of the room just reminds Mitch of how he really does suddenly have another best friend. While Kirstie is Mitch's oldest friend and damn near sister at this point, Scott has the benefits of a better aligned schedule and _that hair_. The first night Scott had knocked on Mitch's door after a solid two hours of Mitch freaking out about the what ifs of Scott not being as nice alone, or forgetting where he lived, or just plain not showing up at all, Mitch had been beyond relieved to discover that nope, he was panicking for no reason. They had natural chemistry and similar interests and so much excitement to be around each other again that four hours had flown by and suddenly Scott had realized he really needed to leave if he was going to be able to wake up early enough tomorrow to attend whatever Senate meeting that apparently was fairly important. And as sad as Mitch was that he had to leave so abruptly, he wasn't concerned about it. Because Scott came back again. And again. And again. Until their daily schedule ended with them hanging out together in Mitch's living room almost every night.

Tonight, they were laughing on Mitch's couch as Plankton gave a dramatic monologue. That is, until Scott noticed a furry little body jumping up onto Mitch's windowsill.

"Cat!" And Scott was gone, rolling out of his little blanket pile and plopping himself down on the floor under the window on the other side of the room.

"Have you never seen him before?" Mitch pushes himself up and grabs for the remote to turn down the show. "He's always around here."

Scott was slowly offering his hand to the cat, who very nonchalantly disregarded it. Scott waited to respond until his initial scratches on the cat's little head were accepted.

"I've never seen him before. Is he yours?"

"Nah," Mitch watched as the cat stretched out, clearly appreciative of Scott's touch even if it didn't want to admit it. "He's just a stray that hangs out on my windowsill a bunch. It's probably a bit warmer for him since he's hairless to be laying somewhere partially heated."

"Does he have a name?"

Mitch frowned as he racked his brain, but honestly couldn't remember if he had ever named it or just always referred to it as The Cat. "If you've got one ready, go for it."

"Wyatt."

Mitch blinked at him. "That was fast."

Scott shrugged and turned back towards Mitch as he continued. "I always wanted a cat, but I was a tad bit allergic when I was a kid. My mom always teased me about having an imaginary cat named Wyatt, so I guess it's kinda fitting."

Mitch nodded at him. "I like it. It makes him sound like a grumpy old man, which he definitely is."

Scott gasped and covered the cat's ears. "How could you say that about my precious little kitty?"

Mitch attempted Kirstie's signature move and rolled his eyes at him. "Just give him a week and he'll lose his interest in you and go back to being a snob. Just watch."

But alas, Wyatt refused to own up to his normal attitude and continued to be Scott's new lap warmer consistently for the next week.

"Traitor," Mitch hissed at Wyatt as he padded across the floor and curled up on Scott's lap the second he crossed from the front door to claim the squishy armchair.

If Mitch continued to occasionally glare at Wyatt throughout the week, he was content letting Scott think he was grumpy about Wyatt's sudden change in character and not the sudden pang of jealousy. Having Scott all cuddled up to him and playing with his hair (or ears whatever, it's a hairless cat) and giving him all those little kisses... Honestly, Mitch might even start purring along with Wyatt if he got to curl up over there instead of flop down on the squeaky couch and pretend he was cozy enough with just the throw pillows and blanket.


	8. VIII

Mitch is propped up on his couch, trying to finish drawing out the dimensions of this stupid dress without smudging it again so he has something better to work with tomorrow in the studio while the news played quietly in the background. He's finally managed to correctly capture the exact curve he wanted when he hears Scott's name and flicks his attention up to the TV for just a second. That one second is all it takes to have his hand brush the still-drying ink though, and now he's cursing and groaning as he resigns himself to having to redraw it again as he rips the ruined page out of his sketchbook and tossed it onto the coffee table.

 _Why_ did he need to be born left-handed?

He takes a minute to calm his irritated nerves and refocuses on the news for a minute.

The lady is still talking about Scott and some program that he's signed into place or whatever, (Mitch didn't really know how it works, and if he was curious, all he had to do was ask Scott to explain it sometime), and then it cuts to a video of Scott standing in what Mitch recognizes vaguely as the interior of the Senate chamber. The audio switches over from the news lady and now Scott's talking about some financial aid system he's asking for approval on. He's standing behind this fancy wood podium in front of rings of seated senators, and then people are whispering and looking at each other while Scott continues. Mitch is confused for a second before it cuts back to the news lady explaining how the prince is facing mixed opinions on his "education funding bill". While the lower-Asdrian senators don't hold many seats in the Senate, they are apparently causing quite a stir as they argue to support Scott's program against the more hesitant upper-Asdrian senators. The lady reads a statement from one of the upper-Asdrian senators about how they don't feel like they need to be helping people from the lower levels afford their own higher education, and then reads another counter statement from a lower-Asdrian senator about the low rates of lower-Asdrian citizens being able to attend colleges, especially since there's none located below the fourth level.

Mitch pauses the TV for a second to try to absorb everything he's just heard. Luckily for him, guess who just happens to choose that very time to knock at his door?

He's greeted with the smell of a fresh pizza when he swings the door open and a gleeful, "You're gonna love this so much, you aren't even _ready_ ", before Scott's sweeping in and kicking his shoes off, crossing the kitchen and sliding the pizza onto the kitchen counter, all whilst discussing, in depth, the wonders of one of the chefs in the kitchen, some guy named Avi who apparently is Scott's personal vending machine--according to the pizza that he can make at short notice for him--and the several stories about Scott getting whacked by him for sneaking into the kitchen at night and stealing some food.

"Bitch, you'd better be saving some of that pizza for me too!" Mitch gasped as he wriggled his way between Scott and the grabby hands reaching towards the gift he'd just deposited. When plates and slices had been distributed between the two, they took their usual spots in Mitch's living room.

"Oooooo, did someone miss me?" Scott's eyes landed on Mitch's frozen TV, news lady still trapped midway through a sentence and the image of Scott in the Senate standing in the corner.

"You wish." Mitch figured now was as good a time as any to ask. "So what is this bill thing? I swear I tried to follow what she was saying, but I clearly don't remember enough about how anything works to keep up with all this fancy political talk."

Scott hummed and leaned back in his chair. "Well, you and Kirstie were talking, like, two weeks ago or something, about how you had planned to follow music into college when you were younger until there were too many barriers making other careers more appealing, and it gave me an idea."

Mitch nodded along. They had planned to go into the music field, Mitch in production and recording technology and Kirstie in songwriting and maybe performance someday, but eventually a lack of funds and actual colleges in the lower-city had convinced them to take different paths before they could trap themselves under a lifetime of debt.

"Well," Scott continued, "I realized that I could probably create a funding system to at least help encourage more students to pursue a higher education. I know you're not interested in the boring political details, but long story short, I researched a bunch, wrote a bajillion reports, presented it to a small advisory council, wrote a formal proposal once I got their approval, and presented that to the Senate meeting for them to discuss official approval or denial. If they pass it at the next meeting in a week, then I can sign it into place and start the system functioning. If they deny it, I'm gonna pout about it for a while, and then start rewriting a new proposal to try again with more support, hopefully." Scott sat back, pleased with his explanation.

Mitch was fairly stunned. "That's the long story _short_ , huh? Is that basically your job, then? Writing a shit-ton of proposals and trying to get people to approve them?"

"Yeah." Scott grimaced. "There's a lot of stuff that doesn't require a full Senate approval, though. Including signing a bunch of papers and making occasional media appearances to keep people happy and invested in the functioning of their country."

"How the hell do you have time to come here almost every day?"

He shrugged. "There's a bunch of smaller councils that can usually take care of writing the boring reports and doing the research, so a lot of the time I just have to approve and sign them before either I or someone else presents them to the corresponding board. So I can usually get away with free nights as long as I put the work in all day."

Mitch shook his head. "Wow, I'm glad I just draw clothes."

"Speaking of which," Scott's face lit up, "I know you don't like it when I talk about your work, but _damn Mitch_."

He reached down to point out the torn page still sitting out in the open at Mitch's confused expression.

"Noooooooo," Mitch buried his face in his hands. "You're not supposed to look at them." He can't really blame Scott for sneaking a peak this time though. It was his own fault for leaving it there. "Especially not the screwed up ones. Curse my left-handedness."

Scott just fixed him with an accusing glare. "You call that screwed up, I call it a unique masterpiece from the _great_ Mitch Grassi, the most _incredible_ artist who ever lived. Seriously, can I hang it up on one of the palace fridges?"

Mitch pretended to consider it for a minute. "Nope." Then he snatched it and dodged the flailing noodle arms as he catapulted himself over to his bedroom door, where he could quickly lean around the corner and reach around to the top drawer of the desk sitting next to the doorframe. He shoved the wrinkled paper inside next to his other sketch books (which may or may not contain sketches other than just clothes... _hehe_ ) and triumphantly turned back to the living room.

"You're evil, I swear." Scott pouted and slouched back down in his chair.

"And you're just the _sweetest_ little angel on the planet," Mitch smirked as he batted his eyelashes and flopped down onto his couch again. "No, but seriously. I really hope you can get that education funding proposal thing passed. You could make a lot of kids really happy, really fast with that."

Scott sighed. "I sure hope so."

The proposal did end up being passed the next week, but even after the massive number of speeches and press meetings Scott had been stuck in all week, the vote was still really tight. Mitch sat on the edge of his couch with his hands balled in nervous fists as he watched the live Senate meeting on TV, eyeing the numbers warily and glancing at Scott sitting tensely in a fancy chair, which Mitch now recognized as the seat for the royal speaker, as the meeting dragged on. When the proposal finally passed, Mitch cheered, scaring Wyatt back out the window, and watched as Scott let out a slight sigh of relief on the screen, before Mitch jumped up to make plans to go find a bottle of wine for the next time Scott came over to celebrate.


	9. IX

It really does take Mitch a while for it to sink in that this scruffy goofball lounging around the evenings on his couch is _actually_ a highly trained soldier and politician. Of course, he knew this rationally when he found out who Scott was, but he didn't really start to process it until one day when they were strolling through the market together looking for some random materials for Mitch's creations.

He hadn't come back to the market to steal people's valuables since the day he met Scott, feeling too guilty since being caught. It wasn't a common enough activity at this point for him to miss it or rely on it, so after the scare of pickpocketing the prince, he had felt it best to just stop. Also, he was doing a bit better financially with Scott providing snacks and gourmet dinners from the palace all the time. The man really knows the way to a girl's heart.

Despite his lack of practice in the last few weeks, Mitch had still spent enough time dabbling in the past years to still be fairly familiar with the art of sneaky theft and how to avoid it happening to him.

Scott did not.

One casual bump into a teenage boy and Mitch just barely saw the thin fingers sliding along Scott's wrist as he laughed about some stupid joke Mitch had made. The glint of the gold reflecting the harsh neon lights of the signs along the market stalls twinkled for just a moment and it was gone.

A hand thrown up and a "wait here a minute" were all the warnings that Scott got before Mitch slid off into the crowd after the little thief, leaving Scott confused and spinning around to try to find where Mitch had gone.

The kid had managed to get a head start, but he was slightly taller than Mitch and therefore, easy enough to follow through the crowd. What Mitch didn't expect though, was the fist in his sweater, (Be careful! He just finished this last week, dude!), and the slamming of his body against a brick wall as he was swung around a corner into an alley, pinned against the rough concrete by an arm.

Again with the stupid alleyways.

"Look kid," Mitch tried to start, but a harsh slap across his face made him snap his mouth shut as his cheek stung and his eyes began to water.

"This is _my_ shit, I won it fair and square," the kid hissed, waving a finger in his face. He was leaning heavily on Mitch now, trapping him against the bricks and forcing the air out of his chest in a rough wheeze. "Leave me alone, _dickhead_. I got it, so it's mine now."

"Oh, _very_ creative language."

The heavy arm was pulled off of Mitch's chest, allowing him to gasp for the air he had lost so quickly, and he stumbled forward at the sudden balance change. There was a screech as the kid's legs went out from under him and he flopped rather ungracefully onto the ground. A booted foot placed itself between the boy's shoulder blades, effectively holding him down as he moaned at the impact.

"Sorry. You told me to stay but I didn't listen," Scott shrugged apologetically over him.

Mitch gaped at him for a solid four seconds, but snapped himself out of it and kneeled down over the kid. Rifling through his pockets was a little difficult considering he was laying face down in the dark, but Mitch found what he was looking for fairly easily after the whole ordeal.

"Do yourself a favor and don't let this become a habit," Mitch patted the whining kid on the shoulder and stood up, brushing himself off and striding back towards the open market. Footsteps followed behind him almost immediately, but he waited until they had walked through the other end of the market and were well on their way back to Mitch's apartment before he slid the watch out of his pocket and offered it back to Scott.

"Sorry for all that, but I saw him snatch it and figured you might want it back... again."

Scott stopped in the middle of the dim sidewalk and stared at him.

"Are you _kidding_ me?" he gasped as he slowly reached out towards Mitch's waiting hand. "Again?"

"The streets down here appreciate your fashion sense in a much different way than the streets up there." Mitch nodded up towards the other levels floating distantly above their heads.

Scott shook his head dumbfoundedly as he clasped the watch back onto his wrist and continued his pace. "I think I'm just gonna stop wearing it, in case you're not around next time."

"When am I ever not around?" Mitch glanced over curiously.

"Well..." Scott's face was very adorable, all scrunched up as he fought (unsuccessfully) for an answer as they climbed up the steps to Mitch's building.


	10. X

That had been the first time Mitch had been made aware of Scott's much different strengths— _literally_ —than his. Scott only continued to add to the slowly forming image of a strong, sweaty, (preferably shirtless), hero in a movie where Mitch was the funny sidekick who was absolutely obsessed with him and had managed to develop a massive crush, despite the hero's inevitable female love interest and marriage by the end of the movie. Mitch was fine with that though. Honestly! Sure, he knew he wasn't gonna magically get the guy in the end, but he had another best friend who was awesome, and funny, and sweet and caring and so smart, (and hot as _hell_ ), and that was plenty enough for him. Besides, there wasn't a female (or male, his brain taunted) love interest in the "movie" yet.

A few weeks after the second market incident, Mitch, Scott, and Kirstie were hanging out in Kirstie's apartment, laughing as Scott attempted to paint Mitch's toenails an awful lime green.

A knock at the door had them pausing in their giggles and attempts at saving Mitch's toes to eye each other curiously as if someone had managed to invite another one of their million-and-a-half friends to join them. Kirstie sighed and pushed herself off the floor, where she had collapsed in tears after Scott had attempted to paint a portrait of Wyatt on Mitch's big toe, to answer the door.

The squeak of alarm upon meeting Serial Killer #1 again had Kirstie stumbling back across her kitchen and Scott popping up next to her to offer a steadying hand and greet the man in the doorway.

"Uh, hi Kevin. Ben." He nodded to the lighter, brown haired man standing next to Kevin. "Long time no see," Scott's joke fell flat, still squeezing Kirstie's hand as she took a breath at the calm but tense atmosphere that vastly differed from the last time she had met this "Kevin".

"Good evening, sir." Kevin crossed his arms across his chest.

Mitch had to bite down a nervous laugh from his perch on the couch as he realized how much of a good cop/bad cop scenario they appeared to be in.

"Can I ask what you're doing here?" Scott tried again at the lack of explanation from either Kevin or Ben.

"Sir," Kevin sighed. "Your coronation is only a few months away. You can't just keep leaving the palace randomly without telling us where you're going, at the very least."

Scott opened his mouth to argue, his frown already primed for an intense debate, as Mitch had learned over the ongoing argument about pineapple pizza.

"Scott." Ben cut him off before he could begin. "Don't be a moron." Oh, Mitch likes this Ben guy. "You're not the only one who could be hurt by random violent anarchists." A pointed glace at Kirstie hanging on Scott's arm and over towards Mitch, still sitting with his feet covered in lime green nail polish in the living room, had Scott twisting to check that, yes, Mitch was still there and okay, and prompted the fight to drain right out of the tense shoulders and clenched jaws.

"I'm not dragging around a security detail whenever I decide to come see my friends." Scott glared at Kevin, who glared right back. Mitch wondered if Kevin was that ripped just so he could stare down Scott better. They looked like they might have had some practice considering how intense the staring contest had quickly gotten.

A sharp giggle broke the tense silence in the room and had all four mens' heads snapping towards Kirstie as a blush crept across her cheeks.

"Sorry!" she clapped a hand over her mouth, but it was clear that she was still grinning. It wasn't hard for Mitch to find the culprit, with Ben smirking right back at her, much more comfortable with having interrupted the glaring.

Scott sighed. "I can tell you when I'm coming and going, and I'm sure you can usually guess as to where, but I'm _not_ bringing other people with me. I can take care of myself—and others—if I need to."

An opening mouth from Kevin had Scott holding up a hand quickly to stop him. "Nope, non-negotiable. Take it or leave it."

Ben brought the nice cop back out as he reached out for Kevin's shoulder gently. "I don't know what you think would happen if we chose to 'leave it', but as long as you keep your word, a general heads up would be much appreciated for right now. Can't say it'll work as well when we get a bit closer to crowning-time."

A curt nod from Scott seals the uncomfortable deal and has Ben, still eyeing the blushing Kirstie with a gentle smile, stepping back into the hall to wait for Kevin.

"Be careful with yourself, brother," Kevin's tone softened slightly as he uncrossed his enormous arms.

Mitch couldn't help himself. "Yeah, Scotty. You better listen to Mr. Swole over here."

Scott shot him a jokingly betrayed look as Kevin met Mitch's eyes and, shockingly, grinned at him and gave a little nod of approval.

"I assume you're the famous Mitch then," Kevin smirked as he glanced back at Scott, whose face was racing to match Kirstie's red cheeks. "Make sure he behaves, yeah?"

Mitch raised his eyebrows at Kevin's request, but agreed lightly nonetheless. Then with a "Have a good night", Ben and Kevin were walking away and the door was closed behind them, leaving the trio in another long silence as they all stared down at different spots on the floor, hoping for something to break the quiet again.

Mitch volunteered himself as tribute.

"So, Kirstie, how about that Ben guy?" The devilish glimmer in his eyes met her wide, shocked ones.

Scott barked out a laugh at Kirstie's indignant, "I don't know what you're talking about Mitchell!", and they fell back into their easy banter as they returned to Mitch's toes to try to salvage what was left of Scott's artwork.


	11. XI

Mitch is bored. He has finished another design for a really cool leather jacket, if he does say so himself, but now he's stuck. The material he had to order for the jacket won't be ready for a few days and he's just stuck waiting and staring at a blank page. There's nothing coming to him, his brain is stuck and he is bored. He's been drumming on the side of his rickety little desk with a pencil for a solid eight and a half minutes now, and if he doesn't find some inspiration to start something new, or at least a distraction that won't get him fired, then his coworkers may actually kill him. At this rate, he wouldn't even blame them. He's annoying _himself_.

A commotion at the door to the studio floor catches his attention easily.

He gleefully pushes himself upright from his slumped position in his chair—which is amazing by the way, _thank you_ Scott—and eyes the group of interns gossipping rapidly. He's all proud of himself for being relatively sneaky about his eavesdropping, but then two of them glance over at him and he knows he's been caught. _Damn it_.

Technically, he's done nothing wrong, but if a group of upper-city interns go talk to someone higher up about him being a creep or something, well. He may have a better job title and salary than those interns, but not for long if they decide they have a real issue with him.

He really is just _so_ bored though. Maybe if he just... flips through his portfolio of old sketches and just listens he could get away with it. He hasn't quite figured out what the source of their gossip is yet, but it sounds good and he wants in on it.

Until he hears footsteps approaching him.

Goodbye office chair. Goodbye fancy high ceiling and echo-y walls and that one really big glass window in the lobby that is _way_ too bright in the mornings—

"So like," the one blonde girl is staring down at him judgmentally. It kinda reminds him of high school. "This guy dropped this off in the lobby for you like ten minutes ago, so, here."

Mitch stared blankly at her as he reached out and grabbed the Starbucks cup being handed to him. Who would have— _of course he did_.

"Uh, thanks?" Mitch tried to smile at the girl and maybe get her to leave, but her friends just shuffled in closer behind her. They didn't appear to be leaving anytime soon, which is a shame because Mitch does not exactly consider himself an expert at quality social interactions.

One of the girls behind the first speaker cocked her hip and crossed her arms. "Was that who I think it was? The guy who delivered the coffee." She clarified at his furrowed brows.

_Scott, I swear to God himself, if I get stuck dealing with your fan club or something..._

"I don't really know what you're talking about, sorry. If you don't mind, I'm kinda busy..." He trailed off quickly and tried to gesture to his open portfolio, despite the fact that there was no way they wouldn't notice the lack of actual work being completed.

"Oh, really? Because I'm pretty sure—actually we all are 'cause we all saw him—that _The Scott Hoying_ just brought you a coffee. So like, we're just curious how someone like _you_ managed to do that," one of the other girls chimed in, accompanied by a bunch of nodding and swinging ponytails.

_Is this classism or homophobia?_

Either way, it made Mitch a little bit irritated. But he really did value his job, so he'll try to keep it professional.

"Look, I don't know what you want from me, but I can be friends with whoever the hell I like. So if you don't _mind_ , I don't need your permission to hang out with Scott, and I don't need you hovering over me while I'm _trying_ to do my job." Oops. Oh well, he might as well roll with it now. Just a touch of some Mitch Grassi Eyebrow Action, and boom. The perfect face to serve.

"So you really think you're friends with the prince?" The first girl laughed. "If you're such _besties_ then, maybe you should invite him to the office party tomorrow. See if he doesn't mind hanging out with one of _you_ here."

Mitch was ready to snap back at her and just possibly drag her through the mud a bit for their lovely word choice, but he deflated at her comment. There's no way he's gonna ask Scott to spend his Saturday trying to make him look cool in front of a bunch of interns. Even if it wiped that smug look off the girls' faces. They weren't even planning to hang out tomorrow—Mitch knew he'd be busy ahead of time and Kirstie apparently had a mysterious date—so Scott would definitely have made other plans already, the workaholic.

His expression must have clued them into his thought process without him needing to say anything, because the blonde girl laughed with a clear, "Yeah, that's what I thought", and flounced away with her entourage behind her.

He slumped down again and picked at the coffee cup. At least the caffeine would get his brain moving again. It may be a Friday, but it's still the morning and he needs to get something done yet, or he might possibly just feel worse about himself later.

Mitch does manage to work on an old piece more after his coffee has been drained, but other than the beginnings of the fabric being cut and pinned, not much else has gotten done. He's since dragged himself home and, well, sitting and sulking in his living room sure doesn't help him feel better, but it doesn't make it worse. At least it hasn't yet.

Scott comments on his behavior within five minutes of his arrival and asks if he's okay, but Mitch waves it off as him having a long day at work and is just meh now. Scott doesn't buy it for a second though, and dumps his reports that he brought to read through (his "homework", as they so lovingly refer to it) on Mitch's counter and turns on some music.

It only takes two songs of Scott trying to get Mitch to sing along and dance with him before somehow, Mitch's mood has improved and he's bopping and belting right along with him, doing his best to avoid getting whacked by the limbs flailing in the air near his head.

Kirstie had called Scott a keeper jokingly the first day they met, and Mitch could acknowledge to himself at least that well, she was _not wrong._


	12. XII

He's standing in the corner and sipping at some wine as he seriously regrets his choices. He should have asked someone. _Anyone_. Kirstie could have helped him talk Scott into it. Hell, Scott could have helped him talk _Kirstie_ into it. It's just so _boring_ and there's no one to talk to. And _dear lord_ , these people don't know what a party is. This music... Mitch needs out.

_How much longer do I have to be here until I can sneak out without it being too weird?_

The estimated 45 more minutes he's trying to talk himself into sound like an eternity already, and _noooo_ here they come. The intern girls are back again and they look _pissed_.

They don't appear to be aiming for him though. Maybe if he just keeps his head down they'll just walk past and they won't say anyth—

"Didn't think you'd actually do it," the lead girl nods at him as they slowed in front of him. He nods back to acknowledge her as they keep walking and he's left alone with more confusion.

Didn't think what? That he'd make it this long in an upper-city party? Well, he's pretty surprised too, but ouch, girl. Drag him.

The chatter in the room is significantly louder than what he had previously noted, and Mitch was beginning to wonder if maybe he should go sit down somewhere. Or see if they have something stronger than whatever fancy wine this is.

A hand on his shoulder stops him as he pushes off the wall to look for a quiet spot, and he is not at all prepared to have another conversation with these girls. Can't they leave him alone to suffer in peace? But the hand is too big for them, and it's warm and gentle and not what he would expect from the Mean Girls squad.

He turns back to wiggle his way out of another uncomfortable social situation but is stopped in his tracks when he's greeted by some very familiar blond waves.

Why is he here? How did he know about the party? Where did he get that sleeveless button down—scratch that, _those arms—_

"Fwah—uh—wha—?" Mitch manages to get out.

Scott's eyes crinkle down at him as he smiles. "You know I would have come if you had asked me."

"How—?"

"I ran into Kirstie before and we had lunch. She happened to mention a party that you didn't want to go to and some fangirls you've managed to snag. She may have also mentioned how it would be pretty great if you could bruise their egos a bit, and suggested that I make a surprise appearance to help save you from your boredom."

Mitch's mouth dropped open. He had literally only told Kirstie that there were some interns that had mentioned Scott that morning over a rare Starbucks outing. Kirstie knows him too well. He owes her a new shirt.

Scott laughed at his dumbfounded expression. "I should really thank you both, though. I suppose this is as good a time as any to ask while we're on the topic of attending parties, but, uh. Well, my coronation is in a few months and I'd really like it if you and Kirstie could be there?"

His face was so hopeful, and he really did know how to use those puppy dog eyes. As if he needed to. There was no way Mitch would turn him down for anything, especially if it made him look this excited at just the prospect. But he really should check...

"Would that be okay? For two of us to be up there for an official ceremony?" Mitch asks cautiously.

Scott answered very quickly. "Yes."

Mitch raised an eyebrow suspiciously.

"Well, I'm going to be king. So I make the rules, right? And I say yes. Please?"

Mitch smiled at the stubborn man-child in front of him. He did not envy whoever had to talk a young Scott into eating his vegetables.

"Alright." Scott's face lights up again and Mitch nearly chokes on his next breath because how does someone look like that. Nope. Focusing. "I'm gonna have to insist that Kirstie and I be the best dressed there, though."

"You don't even have to try."

His heart. Just take him away now. "You sap. I promise I'll keep it appropriate for the sake of all those old white guys. I'm thinking that Kirstie is gonna need a nice, new dress, yeah?"

Scott's grin matched his own. "Oh yeah." He regarded him smugly. "You wanna go escape and start planning the dress right now?"

Kirstie isn't the only one who knows him too well, it seems.

"You just got here though. It would be _improper_ to leave so soon," Mitch sighed.

Scott rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Actually, I got here a while ago. I may or may not have spent a while discussing how impressive your work is to a bunch of your colleagues."

"Scott!"

"They deserve to know they're working with a _genius_. And I just happened to be the one who is willing to make them aware of it."

"Oh my god— _whatever_. Can we leave then?"

A gentlemanly elbow was offered to Mitch, who wrapped his freshly manicured hand around it as they started towards the staircase to the bottom of the lobby.

"I just happen to be a bit of an expert at leaving dull parties too soon, and I do believe it would be a waste to not put my skills to use tonight."

Mitch grinned to himself at Scott's unintentional... _interesting_ word choice as he let himself be guided out of the building. Oh, if only.


	13. XIII

"You shaved your head."

"And good afternoon to you too, Captain Obvious," Mitch rolled his eyes as he stepped back to let Scott into his apartment. "Technically, Kirstie shaved it last night, because I don't know shit about hair."

Scott slid his stack of folders onto the coffee table and plopped down in his armchair. It really was Scott's chair at this point.

"I like it. It suits you."

Mitch ran his hand over the new smoothness that was his head. "Thanks." Okay, new topic quick before his face gets all red. "So how was work today, honey?"

Scott snorted at him. "Lame, dear. I honestly have no idea why my father has decided that now is an excellent time to have me review the details of his first few months in office, _again_. I swear this is like the fourth time since he announced his abdication."

"Ew," Mitch scrunched his nose up as he plopped back down at his makeshift work table, aka his kitchen counter. "Well don't let me keep you from all that exciting paperwork."

Scott groaned as he picked at the top folder. "I don't want toooo," he whined.

"The sooner you do it, the sooner it's done."

"Says the guy who stabs himself with pins all day for a job."

Mitch gasped. "How dare you? I'll have you know I am a professional and I know better than to stab myself when I'm pinning something!"

Mitch turned back to the sleeve he was lining up and immediately pricked himself as he reached for his pincushion.

"Shut up," he sucked his finger into his mouth as he pouted over Scott's unnecessary laughing.

Scott leaned forward, poised to get up. "Do you want a band-aid?"

Mitch glared at him, but oh wait. Ideas!!!

"Stand up." Mitch grabbed his tape measure and a pen, his finger forgotten as Scott hesitantly obeyed.

"What—"

"I just had an amazing idea, shush. I need to measure you, hold still." Mitch poked Scott in the side (with his finger, not a pin, to be clear) and ignored the "owieee". "And stand up straight. I only dyed so much fabric and I am _not_ going to cut it too short because you're slouching."

"Wouldn't you rather ask one of your _fangirls_ to model for you?" Mitch could hear the snarky grin on Scott's face from behind him as he pulled the tape measure around his shoulders. He retaliated with a mature slap to Scott's bicep.

Some of the young, _female_ interns at Modernio had taken Scott's praise for Mitch's work to heart and had begun trailing him like ducklings around the office whenever they got the chance. Mitch had made the mistake of complaining about how he missed being able to work in peace to Scott, who had been far too gleeful at Mitch's pain. He would not stop insinuating that they were as obsessed with Mitch as he was, and that they would do anything for him. _Anything_. Ew.

"Oh my god, will you _let it go_ already? They're just following me around because they think you're gonna show up sometime and they're gonna get to meet you. Besides, I am _way_ too gay for whatever you're still trying to imply here."

Scott's shoulders tensed under his fingers as he tried to write the measurement down on his arm.

"Relax, Scooter. You're screwing up my numbers."

There was no response. Mitch felt his stomach drop.

 _Shit_.

This can't be happening. There's literally no way Scott didn't figure it out already. Sure he can be oblivious sometimes, but he couldn't possibly have missed something that big? Correction: he couldn't possibly have not figured it out and somehow managed to be homophobic this entire time without Mitch noticing? Mitch can feel himself starting to panic. Why the hell did he have to say that? No, deep breaths. It's probably just a misunderstanding. Scott's way too nice for Mitch's sexuality to be an issue for him. Just take deep breaths. Wait, Scott.

Scott isn't taking deep breaths. Mitch isn't sure Scott's breathing at all. Scott's definitely started shaking though. Shit shit shit.

Help Scott first, figure out how to fix it later.

"Scott?" Mitch tossed the tape measure and the pen to the floor. "Scotty? Can you sit down, please?"

Mitch grabbed Scott's arm firmly and pulled him down to the couch. Now that they were level with each other again, Mitch could see how pale Scott had gotten.

"Scott, can you breathe for me please?" Mitch grabbed Scott's hand and rubbed the back of it gently.

Scott's eyes snapped up to Mitch's suddenly.

"You just..."

"Talk later. Breathe now." Mitch shook his head.

"You just said that out loud?"

What?

"Uh, what?"

Scott looks a little more alert than he did a second ago, though still panicked and shaky. "You said... that... out loud?"

Mitch squeezed Scott's hand as he felt another tremor run through him. What was he talking about?

"Should I not have? It's still legal, right?" Legal, courtesy of marches across different cities and a massive lower-city petition nearly four years ago to Scott's father demanding for him to legalize same-sex marriage. He wouldn't have tried to change it back. There's no way Mitch wouldn't have heard about it if he had.

Scott took a shaky breath. "Yeah, it is... but..."

Mitch squeezed his hand encouragingly, and was pleased when Scott squeezed right back.

"I guess it's different down here. I should have realized—"

Oh. It's not homophobia. Not Scott, anyway.

"Scott..." His eyes weren't watering. They weren't.

"I can't—I can't say it—"

Mitch cut him off. "You don't need to. It doesn't matter to me, or Kirstie, or pretty much anyone down here. I swear, you're safe here. Especially here." Mitch nodded around his apartment as he squeezed Scott's hand again. "Just breathe for a little bit, okay? We can talk later."

Scott nodded and shifted towards Mitch on the couch. Mitch took the silent invitation and squished himself into Scott's side, pulling a throw blanket on top of them. Scott's head leaned down onto his shoulder and Mitch wrapped his arms around him, reassured when Scott's arms wrapped around Mitch, too. He refused to let the tears fall until Scott's trembling stopped and his breathing slowed and evened out. Mitch sniffled softly, trying to stay quiet so he didn't wake up Scott.

Mitch kinda wanted to go up to the palace and yell at everyone. Maybe just take a megaphone and roam the halls, screaming at whoever it was that agreed to such an awful social environment up there. Mitch had never been too outwardly open about his sexuality when in the upper-city, preferring to just let everyone else assume (correctly) as he wasn't exactly trying to hide it. Scott apparently didn't have that option, even. To just... _be_.

How had all of this never come up between them before? They'd been as close as they could get for months now, and talked about everything else they could think of. They didn't have secrets anymore. Well, other than that irritating little crush that wouldn't go away—"crush" might be too gentle of a word for it at this point—but that didn't matter. This _definitely_ did. God, Mitch was furious at Scott's father, the entire Senate, the damn sun that Scott had been forced to grow up under, away from people he could talk to or trust, apparently.

Mitch was a lot smaller than Scott, but having him all curled up, vulnerable in his arms, made him fiercely protective over his best friend. He squeezed Scott a little closer to him and was reassured when Scott just snuggled in and didn't appear to wake up from it.

Scott's head was still tucked onto his shoulder, but now Mitch could see his face if he tilted his head a little. His brow was furrowed slightly, but he still looked so much calmer and more peaceful than he had before. It made Mitch feel even more guilty about prompting all this. And also one more thing.

Scott's dead weight, though completely welcome for Mitch, had started to pull on his neck in this new position. Specifically, his scar.

The damn thing had been doing so well for so long, Mitch could almost forget it was there, buried under the sharp little lines of black ink scattering down the left side of his neck. But not right now, with the little slice of pain starting to grow the longer he sat and tried to ignore it.

He grit his teeth and tried to leave it alone for as long as he could, but only managed a few more minutes before he just couldn't anymore. He must have tensed too much as he strained against the screaming in his neck, because Scott suddenly shifted and lifted his head.

"Are you alright?" Scott's slightly bleary eyes turned to Mitch concernedly.

Mitch pulled his right arm away from Scott's shoulders to rub at his throat and will away the pain. It was already fading now that the pull and weight was off of it, but it caught Scott's eye as he glanced over Mitch, searching for the issue.

"Yeah, sorry Scotty. I'm fine, I promise. Are you alright? Do you want some water, or some Advil, or something? Whatever you need—"

Scott cut him off with a wave. "No, I'm fine. Sorry about... all that. It just kinda caught me off guard. But I'm good. Really."

He's lying.

Mitch pushed himself back and turned so he could look Scott dead in the eye and waited. Scott sighed, knowing he'd been caught and hesitantly continued.

"I know it's legal. I know it's okay and I know that I'm not the only one dealing with it up there, but. There's just..." Scott struggled with his words. Mitch reached out and grabbed Scott's hand again to continue rubbing it like before. Scott dropped his chin and continued as he stared down at their hands.

"You _never_ see it up there. No one talks about it. Ever. And even when it does come up in nasty little rumors about so-and-so's interests, it's never a good thing. People are either straight or they pretend to be. If they can't, they usually leave. Um..." Scott glanced up again at Mitch, who nodded at him. There was clearly something else, but he didn't want to push.

Scott dropped his chin and closed his eyes as he fought to get the words out.

"You don't have to—" Mitch tried to interject but Scott shook his head.

"No. I want to. It's just—it was bad."

Mitch squeezed his hand and carefully watched Scott's face to make sure he was still okay. He was a little pale, but still better than before.

"It all happened so fast. Last year, there was a... a guy." Scott had to pause to take a calming breath. "We... well it was only a couple weeks but it was serious. For me at least. I thought it was for him too, you know? We were close and we didn't really know anyone else up there, like us. It was so secret, literally nobody knew about it except for us, and we worked hard to keep it that way. Until, um. Esther—she's basically the PR manager for the royal family and stuff, but she's also a friend of mine—she caught an article about to drop. He had written it and was trying to sell it, I guess. And he wrote about _everything_. God, I couldn't look her in the eye. But she came to me with it and she asked me if it was real, if she needed to be concerned about other articles or anything trying to expose me. I freaked out, to be honest. She ended up having to go get Avi—he's her brother—to come help me calm down. They were both super supportive and fine with it, but they didn't get it, you know? Esther got the whole thing taken care of so it never saw the light of day, or I guess the streetlights of day down here, but it was awful. I was still super freaked out by it, and we were all worried that it would come out again and then what? I could deal with the two of them knowing, but I didn't want to lose my entire future over it. I've been working towards this my entire life, and I don't want to have it be thrown away over some stupid affair. She never told me the details, other than to reassure me that she didn't tell them about, uh, me, but apparently Esther sent Kevin and Matt to confront him. All I know is that those two are some scary dudes when they're mad, and I guess they convinced him to leave the city. I've never seen him since the article, and I'm hoping to keep it that way. So in the end, Esther and Avi know, and I'm assuming Matt and Kevin have their suspicions, but otherwise no one else does. And you, too. Obviously. So, yeah." Scott let out a deep breath and leaned back against the couch to watch Mitch process.

"So..." Mitch started hesitantly. A few things were starting to fall into place here. "Is that way Kevin was all scary-swole-guy that one time at Kirstie's?"

Scott nodded. "Yeah. He means well, but he's just been really protective of me ever since it all happened. I appreciate it, but I didn't spend years of my education for becoming king in military training for nothing."

Mitch didn't blame Kevin. If he'd been around when this had happened, Mitch would have had some _serious_ words with the guy before he'd have let Kevin and Matt scare him out of town.

"Are you sure you're alright, right now?" Mitch figured he should make sure that Scott wasn't beating himself up over telling him.

"Yeah." Scott looked like he was himself again. More in control, and definitely calmer, though still a little nervous.

"Good." Mitch glanced down at the discarded fabric and papers littering the living room. "How essential is it that you review those papers tonight?"

Scott eyed him curiously. "I could probably do it tomorrow, why?"

"In my experience, coming out requires a decent amount of celebration. Kirstie and I once spent the whole night eating ice cream and dancing to Beyoncé in the name of equality. I don't think it's _quite_ the right mood for tonight, but I think I have ice cream and we could build a fort."

Scott grinned at him. "You're gonna build a fort?"

"No, silly. _You're_ gonna build a proper blanket fort, Mr. Military Training. Then, we're gonna eat ice cream in it and watch a funny movie."

"That sounds... pretty awesome actually. But I don't think I ever said... specifically—" Scott tilted his head at Mitch and the discomfort in his eyes shot a stab of pain through him worse than anything Mitch's scar could come up with.

Mitch bunched up the blanket still hanging over their legs and handed it to Scott. "You don't need to if you don't want to; you can be as randomly queer as you want, no labels. You do you, and I'll support you no matter what."

Scott's grin was blinding the rest of the night, even in the darkness of their fort. Mitch could see it reflecting on the screen of the TV.


	14. XIV

"No."

"Please, Mitchy?"

"No way!"

Scott was pouting. How the hell was he supposed to be stubborn and say no with that face right in front of him?

Mitch sighed and looked up at the steely tower of the store standing over them. The upper-city really did like their shiny buildings.

"I literally can't afford any of this, Scott."

" _I'm_ gonna buy—"

"No!" Mitch glared at Scott. It might've worked better if he was taller. "I'm not taking your money. Even if it's for a bunch of clothes."

"Can I buy you one thing? Pleeeease, Mitchy?"

Don't look at the puppy dog eyes. Don't do it. Don't!

Mitch looked at the puppy dog eyes.

"One."

Scott whooped with joy and grabbed Mitch's arm as he dragged him through the front doors. It was early on a Saturday— _God_ , the things Mitch did for him—so the store was mostly empty except for the occasional lone shopper or employee doing a double take when they saw Scott.

Mitch was aware that he agreed to only one thing, and he was determined to stick to it. But Scott was making it difficult to stay on track with his plan. The big goofball kept holding up different things, going "ooh", and adding them to the ever-growing stack of clothes draped over his arm. (He wouldn't let Mitch carry any of it.)

The longer Mitch spent wandering the racks with the bouncy Scott behind him, the more he started to calculate how much he could spare on an extra shirt. Ooh, or maybe those boots. _No!_ Stop finding more stuff!

Scott kept adding clothes to his arm pile—honestly, he was probably adding more than Mitch at this point. And as tempted as Mitch was to see how long Scott would suffer under the weight of the selections before he caved, Mitch also really wanted to try this stuff on.

Scott had demanded a show of each article Mitch was interested in, and with the dressing rooms empty in the early morning, Mitch decided to appease him.

The dramatic gasps and enthusiastic applause after each outfit, regardless of his personal opinion on it, made Mitch quickly aware of his growing self-confidence. Slightly growing. ...Hehe. _No, Mitch, be appropriate._

The next shirt he slipped on was an oversized, black and white striped sweater. Mitch arranged the massive neckline to drape over his left shoulder and swung the door open.

"What do we think? Do we like?" Mitch turned in front of the mirror in the hall rooming the dressing room stalls.

Scott gaped at him. That was new. Was it too much skin? The shoulder was bold, but he'd seen much worse. He'd _worn_ much worse in public before. But if Scott didn't like it, then maybe it just looked bad? So much for self-confidence.

Mitch tore his eyes away from his reflection to study Scott. The continued lack of a response was starting to worry him after all the commotion and excitement he'd had before.

He was relieved to realize what had caught Scott's attention, though. He was staring, mouth hanging slightly open, at Mitch's neck. Specifically, the tattoos that were now very visible.

"Scotty?"

"Sorry." He looked a little sheepish. "Can I ask about them?" Scott gestured towards the inked lines.

"Sure."

"Why all the lines?"

Mitch smiled down at his shoulder. The lines started on the left side of his neck and curved down across his shoulder and down his shoulder blade, morphing from jagged little dashes to curved lines that swooped together to create the outlines of roses. Mitch pushed the shirt down farther so Scott could see the transition better, and the two little skulls that rested amongst the flowers on his upper back. Pushing the shirt down also made the tattoo on the top of his arm visible, too. The roses covering his shoulder also covered the root end of a long, thorny stem reaching halfway down towards his elbow. Filling the space behind the stem were piano keys falling from underneath the bed of roses on his shoulder. Where there would usually be a flower at the end of the stem was instead a skeletal hand resting open, with the fingers curved gently around the bend of his elbow.

"They're constellations. My mom used to sneak up to the upper-levels when she was young and stargaze with her friends, before security started restricting access at the elevators. And the roses are for my dad. He always wanted to be a florist, and roses were his absolute favorite. We used to be really close."

"What happened?" Scott lifted his eyes from Mitch's shoulder hesitantly.

Mitch just smiled sadly at him and tapped the spot on his shoulder blade where he knew the two skulls rested.

" _Oh_ , I'm so sorry." Scott covered his mouth with his hands, but Mitch waved him down.

"It was a long time ago, it's fine. Besides, now I have them with me all the time. Have you really never seen my tattoos before?" Mitch asked curiously.

Scott seemed relieved that Mitch wasn't offended by his questioning and gladly switched topics. "Just the little ones on your hands and stuff. Not the neck and sleeve. I mean, I've seen the constellations a bit, but I didn't know what they were. I just kinda figured they were to make the scar look more intimidating."

"You noticed it?"

Scott raised his eyebrows. "Did you think I didn't?" he teased. "Can I ask about that too?"

Mitch tilted his head to the side and pondered for a second. "I think that, if you want to know the details of it, you need to ask Kirstie if she's willing to tell you. A fair amount of it is pretty sensitive for her. But I will say that I got myself into a bit of trouble with some drunk guys outside a bar one night three years ago, and that's how Kirstie and I met."

Scott nodded. "For the record, the scar was definitely more intimidating when I first ran into you in the market than now when I know how much of a big softie you are."

Mitch gasped dramatically and threw a hand to his chest. "Tell that to the three guys I tackled outside the bar!"

"You beat up three guys?" Scott looked mildly stunned and impressed.

"No," Mitch laughed, "I _got beat up_ by three guys."

Mitch ended up letting Scott buy him the striped shirt, and was perfectly content with the purchase, despite Scott's incessant, failed pleading to let him buy Mitch just one more and the internal struggle Mitch had over trying not to cave. Later when he arrived home alone with his bag in hand, he ended up trying it on again, just for himself.

The next morning on his way out the door to go to Kirstie's apartment to hang out with the pair, he was confronted with a stack of boxes piled in front of his door.

He grabbed a pair of scissors out of his kitchen and sliced the top box open before he started the process of dragging them inside and burst into tears.

Inside the box was a fuzzy black sweater he recognized from the store yesterday. The sweater was one of the few items he had debated over before he settled on the striped shirt for the conversation he and Scott had had while he was trying it on. Nestled gently on top of it was a single, red rose.

Scott was leaning on Kirstie's counter, talking to the girl curled up in a ball across the room on a beanbag chair, when Mitch barged in.

He stalked straight up to the taller man and shoved his finger in Scott's slightly alarmed face.

"Don't you ever do that again." Mitch snapped.

He then threw himself onto Scott and squeezed him as hard as he could, burying his face in Scott's chest as he felt arms wrap back around him.

"Yeah, sure," came Scott's response from above him, and—God—Mitch could hear the smug, satisfied grin just from his tone.

Neither of them moved for a long time, until Kirstie finally interrupted them.

"I don't know how much longer I can put up with this. You two are absolute _morons_." Kirstie moaned at them from where she laid buried under a pile of pillows, a heating pad pressed over her stomach.

Mitch chuckled at her whine and pulled himself back from Scott long enough to offer her the bar of chocolate he had stuck in his pocket on his way out of his apartment.

She snatched it from him and glared at him as she munched down on it, watching as Mitch tucked himself back into Scott's side as they flopped down on her couch. 


	15. XV

They're at the palace again. It's not the first time they've hung out there instead of Mitch's apartment during the week, but this time Scott is actually stuck doing paperwork, courtesy of the coronation being _next week_ already, and not just doing his best to show off his understanding of the palace layout to Mitch. Seriously, they've agreed that Mitch can never walk around on his own because he _will_ get lost and possibly lock himself in the dungeons. Which Mitch had immediately forced Scott to show him to prove their existence the second he got the chance. Mitch was also somewhat disappointed to discover that no, he could not spend the night in the dungeons, because they were very old and were no longer used as actual holding cells. Instead, they were used as extra storage for the kitchens, which was how Mitch met Avi.

Avi had taken one look at Mitch and decided that he would become his new taste-tester. Mitch had no complaints with the random snacks and desserts finding their ways into his hands every time he visited (because _damn_ , that boy can _cook_ ), although Scott kept whining and teasing that Mitch was going to replace him with someone who could actually feed him. Which is absolutely _ridiculous_ , but Mitch didn't want to be too sappy about their friendship in front of Avi, and he sure as hell wasn't going to tell Scott about the crush, in the vain hope that it still might go away eventually.

Today, they were in a massive dining room with (you guessed it) massive marble pillars lining the long wooden table. Mitch and Scott had laughed about the size of it and decided to eat lunch on opposite ends. The seating and exaggerated yelling to the distant opposite ends of the table had them doubled over laughing after Matt had stuck his head in the door to check that no one was being murdered.

Mitch eventually scooted down so he was seated at the right hand of Scott so he could finish his gorgeous, fresh salad (with lettuce actually grown from _sunlight_ in a _real_ _garden!_ ) without choking from the laughter.

Scott had already scarfed down his meal and was busy frowning down at the documents that had resulted in the two at the palace instead of Mitch's home. The documents were considered "confidential information" and therefore couldn't leave the palace like some of the other papers he could bring along to Mitch's to review. Mitch had asked Scott if they should just skip hanging out that day, since confidential meant that Mitch really shouldn't be near them, but Scott had shut him down.

"Are you planning on memorizing a bunch of formal documents and sharing them with the public, possibly for financial or other malicious purposes?" Scott had asked.

"Well, no..." Mitch trailed off.

"Then you're fine. I trust you. Here," Scott had tapped him on both shoulders with his hand, "Now you're an Official Confidential-Document-Induced Boredom Supervisor for me."

"What the hell does that mean?" Mitch had swatted at him.

"It means you're supposed to entertain me when I have to look through boring old stuff."

"Can I be paid in food from Avi?"

Scott had scowled at him. "Fine, but only if you share."

Mitch was jolted back to the present by Scott waving his hand in front of Mitch's face.

"Hellooo? Anybody home?"

Mitch chased the hand back to its own side of the table with his fork. "Sorry, I was busy thinking about how great Avi's food is. Seriously, I think I might have actually eaten my school lunches if they were like this. You lucky duck always got this stuff, we got mystery meat and stale bags of chips," he laughed.

Scott snorted at him, then gasped and sat up quickly.

"What?" Mitch studied Scott's face. "Do I have something on my face?"

"No, no..." he trailed off, staring at the far wall suddenly. "I just..." Scott continued to stare off into space.

"So you can tell me off for zoning out on you, and then immediately zone out on me?" Mitch tried to poke Scott with his fork again, but was waved off.

"I got it!" Scott jumped up, nearly tipping his chair over. "Just hold on a second, I'll be right back. Oh, this is gonna be awesome!" He backed up to the door as he waved at Mitch to stay seated, and then turned and raced out.

Mitch stared at the door swinging shut behind him in confusion.

"Sure," he agreed to the suddenly empty room.

Mitch started humming in between his last few bites of salad to fill the silent dining hall, appreciating the echo from the vaulted ceiling and the marble. Seriously, what is with all the marble?

A door swinging back open startled him, despite the much gentler nature than Scott's exit had been.

It wasn't Scott who walked through the door though, much to Mitch's surprise. Instead, it was a somewhat older woman with curly blonde hair, wearing a deep purple pantsuit and tall, matching heels. The familiar hair is probably what tipped Mitch off, because he was suddenly trying desperately to remember what the etiquette for interacting with the royal family, (other than Scott), was supposed to be. He was trying to decide between jumping up so he was standing too, which seemed like a valid candidate for the correct option, but in his shock, he ended up just freezing and staring for too long.

Luckily, the queen walked straight over and sat down across from him, saving him from having to jump to his feet at the last second.

"So, you're the famous Mitch we've been hearing so much about," she held out her hand across the table, and Mitch shook it delicately.

"Good afternoon, your majesty," Mitch tried not to wince at his greeting. He can do this. Just talk like a normal, respectful person.

"Oh, please," her light laughter reminded him of Scott's easy chuckles, "It's just Connie. I've been hoping to run into you sometime soon, actually."

Mitch nodded along, wishing Scott would hurry up and save him before he says something stupid.

"Do you recall the jacket you sewed Scott? The black and white one?"

Mitch nodded again. Two weeks ago, he had finished the long jacket that he had started measuring Scott for the night they had built the blanket fort. The coat was almost knee length on Scott, and was covered in black and grey swirls and blotches that almost appeared to be blue in the gentle fading. The pattern Mitch had carefully dyed the coat almost reminded him of the cityline you could see in the distant levels above him and cities across the horizon, especially in the spots where the deep black faded into the original white of the fabric. Scott had been ecstatic when he presented it to him, and also very vocal about how much he adored Mitch's talent and creative genius.

"He wore it around the palace just about every chance he got, he loved it so much."

Mitch warily noted the past tense, "loved".

"A few days ago, his nephews snuck into his room to, I assume, try on the coat. They just admire him so much, they wanted to be just like Scott and wear the fancy jacket, too. They didn't mean any harm, I'm sure, but they're young children who spend too much time cooped up in a palace where they can't run around and let their energy out. Well, when I found them, two of the buttons were missing on the coat, and I was wondering if you'd be willing to help me replace them?"

Mitch agreed immediately, "Of course! I probably still have some leftover buttons that would match. Do you have the jacket?"

They arranged for Connie to go find Mitch's bag in the lounge off of Scott's "quarters", as they were officially called, and sneak it in without Scott noticing. Mitch could then come back to the palace on Monday to return the jacket to Connie without Scott knowing, so the nephews could give it to Scott and apologize for the incident.

"They really are very sorry about this all," Connie added when their plan was complete. "I walked in on them playing Scott-and-Mitch earlier this week. He talks about you so much, they just got excited to be a part of the action, I suppose."

Mitch could feel his face turning red, and Connie could definitely tell according to the way she was smiling at him.

"Does he really talk about me that much?" Mitch asked. "People keep coming up to me and knowing who I am."

Connie chucked. "Yep. If he isn't busy running the country or finalizing plans for the coronation ceremony, he's talking about you. It's all very sweet and complementary, I promise. We've all heard quite a bit about, 'Mitch likes that flavor ice cream', or 'Last night, Mitch and I watched Spongebob for six hours straight', or 'Mitch grew his hair back and it's _gorgeous_ —"

She was cut off by the door swinging back open and Scott waving a handful of papers triumphantly. "You gave me an amaaaaaazing idea about a nutrition program for schools and community centers to offer, I just have to figure out the fundi— _oh no_."

"You took too long, so I made a new friend. Sorry, Scooter," Mitch teased as Scott groaned and trudged back over to his seat between the two.

"Good evening, _mother_. Please tell me you haven't been gossipping about baby me?"

Connie reflected Mitch's grin back at him. "No, actually, but that reminds me. Mitch, dear, it's very important to me that you are made aware that this young man had dinosaur bed sheets until two years ago."

"MOM!" Scott yelped over Mitch's laughter, and jumped up. "Okay, okay, thanks for visiting. You can go now, _bye!_ " He whined and pulled at Connie until she stood up and allowed herself to be pushed over to the door.

"It was very nice meeting you, Mitch!" She called.

"You too, ma'am." Mitch smiled with a wave as Scott swung the door shut.

Mitch watched as Scott leaned back on the door and groaned, his face buried in his hands.

"So, you think my hair is gorgeous?"

"Oh, don't even start." Scott glared at him and stalked back over to the table grumpily. 


	16. XVI

They're at Mitch's apartment the next night. The coronation is only a week away, and Scott had moped quite a bit about not being able to be more available for the next few days. Tonight—Friday night—and tomorrow evening would be the last days he could hang out with Mitch or Kirstie until Wednesday, when they had made rare plans to all get lunch together.

Scott thankfully has no paperwork left now though, and can just relax on the couch for once and pet Wyatt. Mitch is sitting at his kitchen table, trying to finish the sketch for Kirstie's dress. He finished his own suit for the fancy coronation ceremony, but Kirstie's dress is the real deal here. His suit was fine, just a couple hours of him pulling some old fabric together for a new piece, but this. Kirstie's dress has to be _perfect_. He's been stalling for weeks trying to make the design satisfactory, and Mitch refuses to start cutting fabric until he has convinced himself that it is a masterpiece in the making. He's glad he has Kirstie's measurements from recent little designs he's thrown together, because it will save so much time over the next week. If he's lucky, he might be able to have it finished before she even sees it! He can barely hold his excitement in, and Scott has noticed.

"Pleeeease Mitchy. I am your number one fan, I swear. I want to SEE it!" Scott was whining at him.

"No! Not till it's done!"

Scott groaned and dropped his head back against the armrest on the couch. "But that'll be _years_."

"You can survive one goddamn week, Scotty."

"If you're not gonna show me, then can you come entertain me?"

"Scott, I am working."

"But you're my Official Confidential-Document-Induced Boredom Supervisor! It's your job to come heeeere."

"You aren't looking at documents."

" _Mitchyyyyyyy_ —"

"Oh my god! Fine!" Mitch threw his pencil down and stood up. He hadn't really gotten anything done since Scott had gotten there, anyway. "But then it's my turn!" He pointed to Wyatt, curled up on Scott's lap.

So what if he's still jealous that a stupid cat gets all of Scott's affection?

Mitch flopped himself down on top of Scott's legs with his head resting in the middle of Scott's chest, claiming the spot where a startled cat had quickly vacated in fear of getting squished.

Oh, this is Mitch's new favorite thing in the _world_.

"Nooo," Scott whined as Wyatt stalked over to the open window for a dramatic exit. "My precious little kitty!"

"You wanted me over here so bad, I can be your replacement kitty." Mitch rolled his eyes.

"Fine. But I'm petting you then."

"Fine."

Scott's hand buried itself in Mitch's hair. Nope, this is his favorite thing in the world. He knew growing his hair back was the right idea. He and Scott have gotten touchier since the long hug after the shopping trip months ago, but this is new. Mitch wants it forever. Scott's touch is soft, but not overly so. It's the perfect combination between nails scratching lightly over the shaved sides of his scalp and his hair being gently tugged. It's amazing. Mitch lets out a deep sigh as he closes his eyes, and Scott chuckles. Mitch can feel the rumble in Scott's chest and he can't even make himself care that this is probably ridiculous and he's definitely going to panic that he overstepped his boundaries later. But it's just so nice. He could fall asleep like this. He's not going to let himself though. No matter how long of a week it's been trying to work enough to get time off for the coronation and trying to finish his suit and start Kirstie's dress. No matter how much he wants to never get up and just float in this calm forever. No matter...

"Mitchy?"

"Hmm?"

"Wake up, Mitchy."

Damn it.

Mitch cracked his eyes open, and was immediately irritated by how dark the room had gotten. The glow from the streetlights outside his open window had dimmed to the night time setting, and neither Scott nor Mitch had turned on more lamps, considering they were both still laying on the couch.

Mitch pushed himself upright and yawned. "Sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep."

"No, it's fine. I would have woken you up if it bothered me."

Mitch tilted his head at him. He _had_ just woken him up.

Scott corrected himself. "I mean, I would have woken you up sooner. I just, kinda have to go soon."

Mitch twisted himself around to see the time displayed on his dark TV. _No!_ He had wasted his last night alone with Scott for probably at least two weeks just _sleeping_.

"I'm so sorry! I wanted to hang out with you, not pin you to the couch all night, uh—" Mitch was glad Scott cut him off and clearly missed the odd wording that Mitch could definitely see an innuendo in.

"No, no, it was fine. I liked it." Scott blushed lightly. "I mean, your hair is soft, uh. It, uh."

Mitch snorted. "Don't hurt yourself." He pushed himself all the way off Scott's lap ( _nooooo_ ) and dragged himself over to the window to pull it shut and start switching the lamps on.

When he turned back around, Scott had pulled his shoes on and was hesitating at the door. Mitch walked over to join him.

"Did you forget how it works?" Mitch pointed his thumb at the door as he leaned against the wall next to him.

Scott looked shy suddenly. "No, I just don't..."

"I don't want you to go, either."

Scott smiled sadly. "I wish I could just stay down here and not deal with all of that right now. I just want to relax here and hang out with you and get lunch with Kirstie and pet Wyatt... I love my job and I'm excited to be crowned and all, but still. It's just so stressful right now. What if I screw it up? And what if people don't..." He trailed off again and frowned down at the ground.

"Everyone will _love_ you, Scotty. You've already done more for us down here as prince than your father or your grandfather or whoever else ever did as king. We all have your back, and we trust you. Kirstie and I trust you. You just don't trust yourself. You've basically been running the entirety of Asdria for months now, and so far it's all gone fine. You just have to go get a crown stuck on your head on Friday. Then it's back to normal again, after a bunch of crazy press and stuff."

Scott looked him in the eye. "I'm gonna miss you all week."

"You're coming to Kirstie's tomorrow. I'll be there, too," Mitch teased.

Scott held his gaze.

"I'll miss you too, Scott."

Mitch stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Scott, squeezing tightly when Scott matched his hold. They stood there in Mitch's doorway clinging to each other for way too long. Eventually, Scott pulled back enough to see Mitch's face.

"I really do have to go."

Mitch nodded, but neither of them pulled back farther. They were still standing so close to each other, just staring, and Mitch's breath caught in his throat.

He should do it.

Right now.

Just lean in a little bit more...

Scott's eyes jumped down to his lips and Mitch started to rock forwards on his toes.

But then Scott dropped his arms. Mitch tried not to let the disappointment in his chest affect him, but it almost made his eyes well up. He was so close.

"See you tomorrow, Mitchy."

"Bye, Scooter."

And then the door opened and Scott moved, and it closed.

Mitch buried his face in his shaky hands in the dark hall and tried not to cry. 


	17. XVII

Mitch is pissed. He had forgotten the tulle for Kirstie's dress in the studio, and he had finally finished the design. When he had realized, he had been sitting on Kirstie's couch, tucked between Scott and a pillow. At first, he had brushed it off and figured that he would go grab it tomorrow. But then he remembered that it was Saturday, and tomorrow was Sunday. The office was closed on Sundays. Locked. No entry. On Saturdays, however, it was not locked. Rather, it wouldn't be locked until 9:00 at night. And it was just almost 8:30. So unless he wanted to lose a full day in his tight schedule for assembling the dress, he needed to leave right now and go get the damn fabric. Meaning, he had to lose more of his precious little time with Scott to race up to the third level and hope that it's still sitting at his desk and he won't have to search for it. Now, Mitch was stalking down the street up to the front doors of Modernio with five minutes until 9, fuming.

He didn't have his pocket knife with him for once, considering his quick departure, but with him looking so stony, he knew he wasn't even going to be approached.

The fabric was sitting innocently on his chair, and he was able to grab it and fly out again without being afraid of getting locked in the building. So now he had to go all the way back to his apartment to drop it off before he could go back to Kirstie's, or ruin half the surprise for both Kirstie and Scott.

Standing in the dingy little elevator at night should have scared him more, but it just made him antsy and paranoid that somehow the stench of weed and who knows what else would seep into the poor material in the two minutes that it was trapped in the elevator. When the little bell dinged and the gates slid open, Mitch forced his pace as quick as he could make it as he raced home in the dark.

He stumbles up the steps, skids around the corner of his floor, nearly trips on the ratty old carpet in the hall, fumbles his keys trying to get the door open, and finally manages to get inside and lay out the fabric so it doesn't wrinkle on him before he gets home the next morning. (Yes, they had decided to have a sleepover on the floor of Kirstie's living room. Don't judge.)

He can finally, FINALLY, make his way back to Kirstie's apartment, but when he unlocks the door with his spare key and slides inside, he notices something fairly quickly. He's alone.

Where did they go? He was gone, maybe 40 minutes, tops. It's after 9:00 on a Saturday night, nothing's open except bars and clubs. Which Mitch is confident they didn't go to, considering Scott's a tad bit famous to everyone who isn't a clueless workaholic like Mitch and Kirstie. And his face has also been almost the sole image on the news for the last week.

Whatever. They can't be gone much longer, especially if they had been trying to sneak around without Mitch knowing. He'll just interrogate them when they get back, no biggie. And in the meantime, he can help himself to an extra handful of dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets.

Kirstie had found them in her freezer and made them for dinner (and midnight snacking later) after Mitch had informed her about Scott's dinosaur bed sheets. His outburst had prompted Scott to tackle him and subject him to tickling until he was laughing so hard he was crying, gasping for air and mercy.

He just finished the last chicken nugget in his hand when the door cracked open and he could see Kirstie and Scott peering into the room, presumably looking for Mitch. He pressed himself back against the counter so they couldn't see him, and watched as they tiptoed past him and back into the living room. Why they were trying to be quiet if they thought he wasn't here, he didn't know. This was gonna be funny when they realized he was standing in the kitchen. Kirstie sank down on the chair and Scott slid back into his spot on the couch.

"I can't believe we made it back before him," Kirstie brushed a stray hair out of her face.

Scott nodded. "I can't believe you've managed to go this long without telling him."

"Telling me what?"

Twin screams echoed from Scott and Kirstie as Kirstie fell off her chair and Scott leaped up off the couch. Mitch had to brace himself on the counter, he was laughing so hard.

"That wasn't funny!" Scott screeched at him, but Mitch was too far gone to apologize for it. It very much was funny.

When he could suck air back into his lungs, Mitch wiped his eyes and tried again. "Tell me what? Are there _secrets_?"

Scott made grabby hands at Mitch and pulled him back over to the couch to squeeze himself back in his cozy little spot again.

"Yes there are. _Kiiiiirstie_." Scott pointed at her red face.

"If you say anything, I _swear_ I will tell him."

Mitch gasped dramatically and looked between them quickly. " _Two_ secrets? I can't believe this! The nerve on you two! Spill, please."

Scott groaned and buried his face in Mitch's shoulder, and whined, "Noooooo."

Kirstie crossed her arms. "Don't worry, he will. _Soon_."

"What does that mean?" Mitch complained. "That could be in five minutes or three _years_ \--" He felt the hands grab at his sides and he tensed. "No, _no no no_. No more tickling!" He shrieked. "No! _Scott_!"

But it was too late. Scott got his revenge for the scare, and Mitch almost wished they were alone in his apartment again, because Scott's face kept getting really close to Mitch's. Kirstie's hysterical giggles as she watched were pretty funny though, as Mitch flailed and kicked out at the practiced grip of the madman on top of him, sending both of them sprawling across her floor.


	18. XVIII

Mitch glanced up and frowned at the flickering street light above him. He was near the bustle of the downtown area on the seventh level again, so the lights weren't very far apart from each other. He still had plenty of light left, but the blinking was just another stupid thing getting on his nerves today.

It was Monday, and Mitch felt like he had plenty of reason to be grumpy. The irritating intern girls had spent half the day hovering near his desk while he actually tried to be productive. They were talking quite loudly about "Oh, I wish I could go to the coronation on Friday" and a whole bunch of other Cinderella-like shit that just reminded Mitch of how he was only going to see Scott for a little bit on Wednesday, and then just from a distance on Friday. For the whole week, he was stuck without his best friend--and they were whining about a party.

Mitch had also spent a considerable amount of Sunday holed up in his apartment, desperately trying to get Kirstie's dress ready. Unfortunately, that included him poking himself _really_ hard with a pin--so much for being a professional--while trying to line up some of the pieces he had cut. That happened enough that it shouldn't have mattered, but his finger had decided it was going to be a dramatic bitch and start gushing all over the place. He'd been forced to discard _two_ stained pieces of the dress, meaning he would need to try to salvage some of the leftover fabric into big enough pieces to recut. And his finger was bandaged up tight enough to stop the bleeding, and half of the movement he needed to actually work.

Just to top it all off, Mitch had managed to sleep through his alarm that morning. He was aware that he was not an early riser, but when you set multiple alarms throughout the morning so that you could wake up early and get some stuff done before going in to work, you'd think he could manage to get up. _Nope!_ So Mitch had needed to sprint almost all the way to work that morning so he wouldn't be late. Mitch had missed breakfast, and had also needed to skip his lunch break in order to finish the task that his alarms had failed to wake him up for: actually sewing the buttons onto Scott's jacket.

Thankfully, sewing buttons was a simple task for the experienced craftsman, but without having a morning coffee, he had just been off all day and couldn't celebrate at least the one small victory he'd had.

He was currently on his way to return the jacket to Scott's mother as planned last Thursday, and then get some takeout on the way home. "Starving and stressed" was not a good mood on Mitch.

His quiet irritation was interrupted by a man stepping out in front of him.

Oh, no. This ought to be good.

"Can I ask where you're going tonight, _sir_?" Mitch recognized the man planted in his path as one of the officers who usually patrolled the market on Saturdays. He'd been chased around by this guy a couple times, but had never actually been caught. It would appear that the officer recognized him regardless, though, considering the mocking tone of his address.

"Just going to go visit a friend," Mitch snapped. It was close enough to the truth, but it wasn't like Mitch was going to try to get rid of this guy by announcing he was on his way to a secret meeting with the queen herself.

"Hmm," the guard's eyes narrowed and scanned Mitch, making him subconsciously grab at the straps of his little backpack tighter. "Mind if I conduct a search of your person? You seem to fit a certain profile we've been investigating recently."

Mitch certainly did mind, but there wasn't much arguing he could do. He was well aware of the stories about corrupt police and violent incidents that had occurred down here when people had refused to comply with orders. Besides, if he was telling the truth about the search purpose, Mitch could get in legal trouble for refusing, not just... _physical_ trouble.

At least he wasn't carrying anything stolen or illegal this time he was confronted. He hadn't gone back to the market to pickpocket people since he had met Scott nearly nine months prior, (the one time when he had gotten Scott's watch back from the kid didn't count, he decided). So he was also fairly sure that he couldn't actually be the criminal they were looking for, unless someone had a crazily incredible ability to recall faces and had decided that he was the criminal behind their missing bracelet that had disappeared months ago, or something.

Mitch huffed and handed his bag over the cop. His eye twitched at the rough handling as the man grabbed it. It was _expensive_ , mister. The cop set the bag on the ground behind him and waved for Mitch to hold his arms out so he could be pat down. _Ew_. At least the cop didn't seem interested in groping him. He was wearing skinny jeans and a pale orange, knitted sweater, so the cop just patted him down and moved back to search his bag, not interested in searching Mitch farther with no suspicious baggy clothing.

The officer unzipped the top of his backpack and poked through it with a long flashlight. "So, who are you on your way to see?"

Mitch frowned at the odd question. "Just a friend."

"What's their name?"

Mitch eyed the cop uncomfortably. This was none of his business, and didn't have anything to do with his search. "Uh, Scott."

The cop paused and tilted his head up to look Mitch in the eye.

"Scott who?"

Shit. Scott would cover for him right? God, why didn't he say Kirstie? "Scott Hoying." There, maybe the cop would back off with the mention of a royal name.

Rough hands grabbed at Mitch's wrists from behind him and pulled his arms back behind him. "Hey, wha—"

"You are under arrest for theft, attempted homici—" Mitch could hear the cop talking in front of him yet, but whoever was behind him was taking up much more of his focus. He was shoved down to his knees and he could feel the cold clamps of handcuffs around his wrists behind him. Another set of hands appeared at his shoulders and held him still as the first set of hands patted him down much more forcefully and thoroughly than before.

Mitch could feel his anxiety spiking and his heart pounding. What the hell was going on? What theft? Was he saying murder? Had there been more cops hiding and watching the interaction? The only things he had in his backpack were the jacket, some sunglasses, and his pocketknife. The pocketknife wasn't illegal though; he always carried it with him and it had never been an issue before.

Mitch was trying to slow his panicked breathing down. He could feel himself being shepherded down the street and into a bright building, but he didn't really feel present in the scene. The lights inside were jarring and dragged him a bit more back into his body.

He felt himself being shoved into a large cell and heard the lock clang back into place as the door swung shut. The handcuffs were still digging into his wrists, but at least now the hands were off of him and he could breath a bit better standing without other bodies pressed into him and yelling from all sides.

He sucked in a deep breath and raised his eyes to the other inhabitants of the cell. There were four people already there: an elderly man sitting on the edge of a metal bench, a lady with blood red hair leaning against a wall, and two burly men sitting on the floor in the corner who resembled bouncers from a questionable club on the eighth level. None of them were still wearing handcuffs.

Mitch swallowed thickly. The bouncers turned away to continue whatever conversation Mitch had interrupted, and the lady went back to boredly picking at her long, acrylic nails. The old man waved Mitch over though, patting a spot next to him on the bench. Mitch hesitantly walked over and joined him.

"You got some nerve on you kid."

"Sorry?"

"I could hear the officers talking in the lobby when they brought you in. I've seen a lot of crazy things in my lifetime, but an assassination attempt on the crown prince? I get the whole dramatics-before-the-coronation thing, but if you can get in the palace to get a coat, couldn't you just wait till he was king before you killed him? Sounds simpler to me."

Mitch gaped at the man. "I didn't steal—I'm not gonna _kill_ _Scott!_ "

He shrugged. "It's not my business, I get it. Must've been pretty annoying with all the media coverage, though. I wouldn't have risked my ass trying to get through all that security right now." Mitch's shocked face must have clued the man in on his absolute lack of understanding, because he backtracked and explained. "No wonder you were gonna go through with it anyway. _Idiot_. Prince Scott's been all over the news this weekend, 'cause some reporter caught some conversation between him and one of the princesses about some jacket of his going missing. And of course, that's no big deal, but the media loves drama in case you haven't noticed. I sincerely hope on behalf of your competency that you weren't the one who leaked the plot to assassinate the prince. Although, testing a secret way into the prince's private chambers by stealing a jacket is pretty original. I'll give you that. Were you really just going to use a pocket knife?"

He could hear the blood rushing through his ears and feel his temples throbbing. What the hell was going on? This was ridiculous. He needed—he just needed to explain the misunderstanding to the cops, right? Then they'd have to let him go. The jacket wasn't that big of a deal. It was just a bunch of leftover fabric from work that he had screwed around with for fun. And he was being arrested for it. After everything he's done, this is what got him locked up?

Mitch could feel his head shaking back and forth, and his mouth opening and closing in a weak attempt to let out the string of "no, no, no" coursing through his head.

A click of the door unlocking had Mitch jumping and tensing. The two cops glaring at him grabbed him and dragged him back through the door and down a hallway. His feet were not cooperating, and he was stumbling more than actually walking as he tried to keep up. Finally, his brain and his mouth rejoined efforts.

" _Please_ , this is just a big misunderstanding. I can prove it if you just let me have my phone call or—"

"Shut _up_ , kid. You've been caught in the act. There's nothing left for you to say."

"No! I didn't—"

The officer on his left turned and called back down the hallway over his cries, "Grab the gag! This one's too loud!"

A rough piece of leathery material was shoved in Mitch's mouth, and he could feel his eyes prick with tears as his head was whipped around as the officers tightened and adjusted a buckle on the side.

Everything was getting too loud and too bright. Mitch's vision kept being clouded over by black spots and he could feel his knees starting to buckle, but he was still standing. Something was moving, though. Mitch tried to gulp in a breath of air, and he was able to focus his fuzzy sight on the glass window next to him.

He was in an elevator? That's why it was bright. Just breathe. Stop panicking. They just kept going up. Mitch wondered vaguely if all of the police stations were lined up on each level so they could just have one private elevator between all of them. That would make sense, he tried to reason, because then there was only one spot to transport criminals and it could be watched carefully. He was moving again, but he couldn't really seem to process it anymore.

It wasn't bright now, so they must have left the elevator. Suddenly it was much darker, and they were walking a lot. Mitch bit down on the gag to keep a hysterical giggle down as his brain helpfully noted that he probably wasn't going to get his phone call.

It was starting to smell weird. Kinda musty. Mitch tried to focus on the musty smell to ground himself, and it worked enough that he could steady his feet a bit more under him. He tried to look around at his new surroundings, but was disappointed when he realized he was still in whatever tunnel this was. It was definitely the source of the musty smell, as the ceilings, walls, and floor, were all made of concrete. There was a door far ahead of them, lit up by the few lanterns lining the hallways and far wall.

Through the door was another hallway, but this one smelled less musty and was made out of marble instead of concrete. It was still very dim, but Mitch felt a bit better surrounded by the familiar stone work after all his time in the palace with Scott. Wait, was he in the palace now? How far were the police stations to the palace? They must have been close, because Mitch didn't think he had zoned out long enough to miss them walking the length of the city through a bunch of tunnels.

Mitch still feels very lightheaded and progressively more nauseous the longer he walks though, so maybe they had been walking a while? Who knows. He's pushed through a door and a hand between his shoulder blades pushes him down to the ground so he's kneeling on the weird, thin carpet.

For a second, there's absolutely no air in the room. He's certain for just a moment, with every fiber in his being, that he's going to be killed here. No one would know, and Mitch would be helpless to try to defend himself. But then the guards stepped back from him and Mitch could hear another door open.

Mitch realized there were tears on his face, but he couldn't do anything about them. He sniffled and tried to rub his face dry on his sweater, but couldn't reach very well.

A gruff voice was talking in the corner, but Mitch didn't care right now. He needed to calm down right now or there was no way he could try to get out of this right now. He tried to focus first on getting his heart rate under control, and forced himself to slow his breathing from the little hitched gasps he had slowly devolved to.

The voice cut through his breathing occasionally, but Mitch couldn't focus on calming down and listening to what it was saying at the same time. Little snippets of the conversation floated through his consciousness, but nothing really made sense to him.

He thought he heard the words, "public execution", but that couldn't be possible. Those were basically unheard of. Scott's grandfather had stopped holding public executions decades ago and put heavy restrictions on them before Mitch was even born, and he was pretty sure that King Rick had never held one. Because only the king had the authority to call for a public execution, and only if the criminal was convicted of treason, Mitch randomly recalled learning in high school. But that means...

Mitch lifted his chin and nearly choked when he recognized the man in the corner conversing with the police who had escorted him here. Rick looked a lot like Scott. Mitch could see the similarities in his facial features, especially the strong jawline.

Mitch tried to focus on the conversation in the corner now that he had a bit more control over himself. He couldn't make out what the cop was saying, but he could hear some of the king's responses better.

"...make it known that no threats to my son will be permitted. I don't care if it makes me sound like my father, he must be safe...no trial, too serious of a crime...close to success here. Tomorrow morning, take him back down to the seventh level... live broadcast...no no, don't alert the media yet...a shock, then people will take it more seriously...don't tell Scott...can't let his work be compromised...don't want him to worry...very busy..."

Mitch's head was reeling at the snippets of speech. He couldn't process--he needed to sit down and think through all of this, but he can't, because he's moving again. He's being led down the marble hallway again. There's another door that he's pushed through into another long, nearly pitch black, hallway with a row of cells. They must be near the kitchens then. Scott had said the dungeons were just storage, though. Maybe he didn't know about these.

Mitch was pushed into the cell, and the sight of the thick bars on the door kept him frozen in place, standing in the middle of the tiny room. The bars looked much more intimidating from the inside, without Scott standing next to him and joking about sleepovers that could go wrong.

The lock clicked and the guard was leaving. The door at the end of the hallway swung shut, and Mitch was alone.

The sudden silence was more jarring than the bright light from the elevator before. Now, Mitch was standing in a tiny, dark cell, for God knows how long, with only his thoughts for company.

He backs up until his shoulders are pressed against the cold wall behind him and sinks to the ground, pulling his knees up to his chest. He feels numb.

Everything was moving so fast and loud, and now it's too still. Too silent. He feels one lone tear drip down his face, but none follow it.

He lowers his head to his knees and waits. 


	19. XIX

Mitch decides the worst part is the waiting. There are no windows in the hallway, no clock hanging anywhere nearby, no one coming to check on him. There must be someone on the other side of the door to his hallway, but he can't tell for sure. He could have been sitting there alone for hours, or maybe just minutes. The only thing telling him it must be closer to hours is the slowly growing ache in his shoulders and legs. The weird, hunched position allowing him to stay curled up on the floor with his back to the wall while still having his wrists locked together behind him was very uncomfortable, but he couldn't make himself move.

He wants to fantasize, to think that maybe the queen will worry when he doesn't show up. Maybe she'll send Scott to his apartment to check on him. Maybe he will go to Kirstie's and when he doesn't find him there, they'll both be worried and maybe they'll go to the police. Maybe they'll hear a rumor, maybe that old guy who wouldn't shut up will tell them while the officer denies everything. Maybe the old guy will tell them they sent him up. Maybe Scott will come barging into the hallway and then he'll be safe and Scott will be here and everything will be okay, but. Mitch won't. He won't let himself think like that. He knows that's just a dumb fantasy and this isn't a Disney movie, and Scott probably won't even find out until it's too late. It'll be better that way. He hopes no one shows Scott the coverage of the execution. He hopes that Scott isn't at the execution.

God, Mitch hopes it's a fast death.

He'll never get to say goodbye to Kirstie. He hopes she knows that she can have all the shirts he stole from her closet back. A giggle tries to force its way out of his throat. It feels like days ago that he was stopped by the police officer, and now he's sitting in a murky old dungeon cell awaiting execution for treason, and he's concerned about the _shirts_ he borrowed from Kirstie that don't matter at all. She knows about them, has taken some of his in turn. The shirts don't matter and he's stuck here with nothing else to think about.

He's been sitting here long enough that he's made a reluctant peace with his fate. Well, less of peace with it and more like he's accepted the hopeless feeling eating away at his chest. He still feels numb, can feel his breathing is heavy, but slow. He feels almost shaky, but he thinks it's more of nervous energy than fear. Waiting to die is _awful_.

The silence is killing him right now, though. _Haha_. Should he sleep? He's kinda hysterical at this point. Or sit awake? Sleep would cost him some of his precious few remaining hours, but staying awake only prolongs the torture. How much longer is it till morning?

There's a soft creaking sound, almost a groaning, and Mitch's ears prickle at it. At first, he thought it must have been his empty stomach, protesting at the lack of food that day, but he didn't feel it rumble. He's as hypersensitive to everything touching him right now as he is numb, distantly feeling the cold of the stone wall behind his back seeping into his skin through the thin sweater, the brush of his short hair across his forehead as he shifts, the tremble in his hands clasped behind his back.

It couldn't have been his stomach though, because unless he's going crazy, it didn't rumble. So what was it? He lifted his head off his knees and peered into the darkness.

There was a light tapping, and Mitch sat up straight with a start when he realized they were footsteps. So much for the heavy calm he'd managed to establish, because now his heart was pounding and he could feel his shoulders start to shake.

The footsteps were gentle and slowly approaching the cell, and Mitch was tense with anticipation. It was unlikely that the person was the king or someone coming to deliver him for execution considering the stealthy nature of the faint thuds. Mitch wished the gag wasn't preventing him from talking, because the anticipation was terrible.

Finally, a dark figure stepped into view in front of the cell door. Mitch's heart sank when he realized that it was a guard. He could see the silhouette of the formal uniform even in the murky black of the room.

"Oh my— _Mitch_? Is that you?"

The spark of hope that flooded through Mitch as he recognized Matt's deep whisper brought him back to the edge of tears. A choked off sound escaped him from behind the gag, and he tried unsuccessfully to push himself back up to his feet, cursing his lack of coordination and the awkward position he had put himself in with his hands stuck behind him.

"Oh my god," he could see Matt turn away.

A desperate little whimper clawed its way out of Mitch's throat at the prospect of being left alone again.

"I'm just gonna find a light," he could hear Matt say.

There was a squeak of old metal protesting its movement, and a dim lantern from further down the hall moved closer until Mitch could finally see Matt lit up in the inky darkness around him.

"Oh my god," Matt whispered again. "This is not what I was expecting when I was told there was a top-secret prisoner awaiting execution in the dungeons."

Mitch could feel himself trembling so hard he was basically vibrating at Matt's words. He shook his head vigorously. How the hell was he supposed to tell Matt he didn't do it?

"Scott's going to _flip_ when he finds out, _God_. I can't believe you would do this," Matt looked down scornfully at him.

Mitch tried to cry out against the gag and tell him he didn't do it, but all that came out was a muffled, " _Ahhhgnnnhh_."

Matt shook his head. "Sorry, man. You know, we actually liked you. Scott's been a lot happier since he started hanging out with you guys instead of being holed up here all the time." He gasped and looked down at Mitch sharply. "Was Kirstie in on this too?"

Mitch was slightly more successful this time. "Ahh waahn't ihhn ohn ihh!"

Matt looked surprised at the better attempt at speaking. "What?"

"Ahh." Mitch shook his head lightly for emphasis, "Waahn't. Ihhn. Ohn. Ihh!"

"Want in on it? Kirstie wanted in?" Matt raised his eyebrows. "You didn't let her in on it?"

"Noooh!" Mitch groaned and dropped his head back against the wall briefly. He pulled it back up quickly though. He didn't know how long Matt would stay, and he needed to at least try. "I," he managed, "Wahh. Nah. Ihhn ohn ihh."

If Mitch wasn't so desperate he would have laughed at Matt's confused face trying to sound out the garbled words Mitch was offering him through the gag. He could see the second a lightbulb flicked on in Matt's head.

"You were not in on it?" he tried.

Mitch nodded hard. He was gonna end up with a concussion if he swung his head around any harder.

"But what about your trial? If they ruled you guilty, it must have been for a reason..." Matt trailed off when he saw Mitch shake his head again.

"Noh hhrial."

"But they can't enforce punishment, let alone execution, if you weren't tried first."

Mitch gave Matt his best _Well no shit, Sherlock_ look.

"But why wouldn't they give you a trial? This is serious if it's about treason. Especially for an assassination on Scott? If they had all the evidence to condemn you, then why didn't they try you first?"

"Noh hilhy."

"Not hilty?"

"Hil—hy. _Hee_ ," Mitch tried to emphasize the 'g' without the use of half his mouth.

"Guilty!" Mitch nodded. "Not guilty?" Mitch breathed a sigh of relief and leaned back against the wall, trying to release some of the tension in his shoulders from the slow conversation.

Matt's brow furrowed again. "But then why would he sign off on an execution... Oh. _Oh!_ Shit. I gotta tell Scott."

Mitch nodded eagerly. Yes, Scott would believe him. Scott would help.

"But I can't leave my post. God, I'm already pushing it being in here." Matt glanced back at the door down the hallway out of Mitch's line of sight. "If I leave early, and someone notices I'm gone, they could come move you and then we wouldn't know where to find you. Ok, ok, um. Shift rotation is in three hours. Once we rotate, I can go find Kevin and Scott. Kevin's the head of security, so he'll have the master key for the cell." Matt smiled weakly down at Mitch. "I'm so sorry. This is going to take a while."

Mitch shrugged at him. He's either going to have to sit there for three hours or all night.

"If Kevin's with Rick on this though... God, I don't know who's loyal to Scott over Rick. If I'm wrong about this, and dear lord do I hope I'm not wrong... Asking Kevin for the keys could either get you out of here or get us both killed. Just...hold on, okay? Everything will be fine."

Mitch could feel the panic trying to rise in his chest again as Matt scurried away and returned the lantern to its place on the wall down the hallway. Mitch was plunged back into darkness without the weak glow near him, and he could hear the door click shut again, too.

He was stuck in the silent blackness once again, with no way of telling time or knowing if Matt would be successful in getting Kevin and Scott.

He had been fairly lost at the end of the conversation before Matt had hurried back to his post. The whole bit about Kevin and loyalties made his stomach churn with anxiety. Matt had made it sound like Rick was plotting something. The whole bit about Kevin being "in on it" or not reminded Mitch of old movies about spies and secrecy and people killing each other without a second glance while action music blasted in the background. This wasn't a movie though, this was real life. And Mitch was nearing the end of his if Kevin wasn't loyal to Scott, or so it seemed.

He felt a shiver run up his spine as he sat against the cold wall. Mitch tried to adjust his position, but couldn't move much without his hands, and could only stretch his legs out in front of him.

The position is slightly more comfortable, but makes Mitch uneasy as he unravels from his protective little ball. He longs for the squishy chair in his living room that smells like Scott. If he was at home, he could curl up in it and take a nap.

If he was at home, he could go sleep in his bed.

He needs to sleep. He feels awful and uncomfortable and exhausted, and he knows that sitting and wasting away with anxiety isn't going to make the time pass any faster.

He tries to focus his mind on the peace and calm he felt on Friday night when he had accidentally fallen asleep on Scott, and tries to let himself drift off. 


	20. XX

Mitch jolts awake when he hears the door to the hallway slam open. He can see the light from the distant corridor lighting up the dungeon hall, but he squeezes his eyes shut against it, pulling his knees back up to his chest and burying his face back in them.

His heart is thumping heavily and he feels nauseous despite having eaten nothing since Sunday night. It must—it must be Tuesday. He's slept through the night. Shit. His last night and he slept through it and now it's morning and he's going to be executed. _Shit_.

He doesn't want to see the guards when they get to his cell. He just wants to stay here and melt into the floor because then they can't take him but there's jingling so someone has keys and he's leaving this cell whether he likes it or not because _the guards are bringing the keys and he's going to die._

The footsteps are approaching and _shit_ , there must be a whole bunch of them, because that's _way_ too much sound for just Matt and Kevin, and maybe Scott.

Matt's dead. Mitch slept through the night and there's a bunch of guards coming for him, which means Matt must be dead or _worse_ and Mitch killed him. Matt died trying to help Mitch and now _Mitch is going to die too._

Mitch wonders wildly how painful it's going to be trying to walk back to the seventh level with his stiff, achy muscles from sleeping on the floor all hunched up. _It can't be as painful as dying_ , he thinks.

The footsteps stopped outside his cell door. There's jingling again which means they're unlocking it and Mitch doesn't want to look. Doesn't want to see the men who dragged him down here. Doesn't want to see the traces of Scott in the king's face, if he's here.

There's a pair of footsteps walking across the cell. It's almost there and Mitch pulls his legs and arms in even tighter to his body, pushing his head down farther into his knees and trying not to hyperventilate.

There's a hand on his shoulder and Mitch flinches hard and tries to wiggle away, but it follows him, and oh, someone's talking—

"—hear me? Mitch?"

He knows that voice.

"Mitch? Can you look at me? Please?"

Mitch doesn't want to, he _doesn't want to,_ but it _sounds_ like warmth and gentleness and easy laughter and eating pizza in his kitchen and stupid little jokes to get him to laugh and so he lifts his head, and—

He's _here_. Scott's _here_ kneeling next to him and Mitch is _safe_ , but Scott looks—Scott looks _mad_. He's using his public face, the one he wears in the Senate and for the press when he can't talk about something or he's getting irritated, so really, he just looks blank. Stony. Not like the giggly, touchy Scott who pouts when Wyatt decides to leave his lap. The professional, impassive facade is almost believable when paired with the light gray suit Scott's wearing. But Mitch knows him. And Scott is _pissed_.

He wouldn't be—he _can't_ —is he mad at Mitch?

There's almost no expression on his face betraying him, just thin lips, as he reaches towards Mitch's head.

Mitch can't look away from Scott's emotionless face. He tenses as Scott's fingers wrap around the buckle on the gag and slowly unclip it. The gag is being pulled out of his mouth, and then it's tossed on the floor and Scott's eyes are running over Mitch's face.

Mitch is clutched with the terror of Scott thinking he's guilty, that he was going to stab him with a pocket knife until he died, that Scott's mad at him.

The words spill out of his mouth, sloppy in his desperate attempt to explain and convince Scott that he's innocent, "I didn't—I wouldn't, I _swear_ Scott, _please_ , you _have_ to believe me, _please_ —"

"I know."

The sheer flood of relief that soaked through Mitch nearly restarted his tears, but he managed to push it away with a shiver. He can cry later, when he's out of the dungeon and these handcuffs.

Scott noticed the shiver, though, and then Mitch could see his face shift in the watery light from the lantern sitting on the floor next to him. Scott slid closer to him and pulled him forward gently until he was leaning on Scott's chest, wrapped up in his arms.

"Mitch?" Scott rubbed his sore shoulders with one of his hands. "I'm going to have Ryan come over here and get these handcuffs off, alright?"

Mitch nodded against Scott's chest, refusing to lift his head up from the calm that was his best friend.

"We don't have the keys for them, just the ones for the cell door, so Ryan is going to try to pick the lock. It might take a few minutes, so try to hold still if you can. He knows what he's doing, and he'll go as fast as possible." Mitch could hear Scott lift his head and direct the last bit towards this Ryan guy, who he could hear walking up behind him steadily.

Mitch did his best not to flinch when he felt Ryan start to work on the handcuffs, but he must have tensed because Scott's arms tightened slightly around him. Mitch was glad he wasn't asked to sit up away from Scott for this.

They sat in a tense silence for a few minutes, only interrupted by the clacking of Ryan's tools and the occasional shuffle from one of the other guards outside the cell.

Then there was a click and Mitch felt the handcuffs release his wrists. " _There we go_ ," he heard him whisper, and then the cuffs were pulled away. He felt Scott nod at Ryan as he walked away from behind Mitch.

"Mitch?" Scott leaned back. "Do you think you can walk right now? Or—"

"I can walk," Mitch rolled his shoulders and pulled his legs underneath him so he could push up onto his knees. Scott stood up and offered him a hand, pulling Mitch up so he was standing as well.

"Okay," Scott didn't let go of his hand. Mitch didn't let go either. "We're gonna go back to my room, alright? It's late, so not many people are in the halls right now, but we need to be quiet just in case."

Mitch nodded and followed Scott out of the cell, wincing at his sore back and legs. In the hallway, Mitch recognized three of the four guards around them. Kevin and Ben flanked Scott and Mitch in the front, and Matt, along with who Mitch assumed to be Ryan, flanked them in the back.

The group moved together out of the dark hall and into the brighter corridor outside. They turned through a door and climbed a staircase, walked down through another hall, turned and climbed another flight of stairs, started down another long hallway, and then Mitch's legs buckled.

He grabbed for Scott and caught himself before he could tumble to the ground, and Scott's free arm reached forward to help him balance himself and get upright again. The group paused as he tried to pull back and keep walking, but Scott pulled him forward again.

"Scott, I can—" Mitch tried to wave him off, but Scott was crouching and then Mitch's legs were swept up and he had to wrap his arms around Scott's neck to keep from falling over. Scott lifted him in a bridal hold and nodded at the four watching them carefully.

Mitch tried to protest as they resumed a swift pace, but Scott shook his head. "It isn't very far yet, and you aren't heavy. It's fine."

Mitch sighed reluctantly, but admitted to himself that he really was very sore, and this was probably more efficient. He was also starting to realize how exhausted he was, and he leaned his head on Scott's shoulder.

They didn't pass anyone during the rest of the walk, and Mitch was relieved when they finally approached the end of a hall and Kevin swung the door to Scott's room open.

Mitch had never been in Scott's room before, and he quickly understood why everyone referred to it as Scott's "quarters". The room was as easily as big as Mitch's entire apartment. It was split in half, with the half closest to the door set up as a more casual lounge. There was a TV over a fireplace with a couch and several chairs in front of it on the right, and a baby grand piano on the left next to a balcony door, overseeing a garden enclosed in the palace walls on the left. Past the lounge area there were three wide steps leading up the slightly raised other half of the room. A large four-poster bed rested against the left wall, opposite a desk and a massive wooden bookshelf. There were two doors against the back wall, and Mitch assumed one was a bathroom and the other was the walk-in closet that Scott had gushed about to a jealous Mitch in the past.

Scott carried Mitch over to the long, velvety couch and propped him up against the armrest carefully. Mitch watched quietly as Scott pulled a blanket over Mitch. Matt and Ben hadn't followed the rest of them into the room, but Kevin and Ryan were taking seats in the chairs around them.

Scott saw the silent question in his eyes and answered it as he continued to tuck the blanket around Mitch.

"Ben's going to get Avi, Esther, and Nicole," he smoothed out some wrinkles on the blanket, "Nicole works with Esther around our press appearances with makeup and stuff. Matt is standing guard outside the door since he's already caught up with what's going on. Everyone else just has the basics, so Avi's gonna bring you some food," Mitch perked up at the mention of food, "and I'm going to explain the situation. Then we can make some plans and you can get some rest."

"Scotty, you can stop with the blanket now," Mitch rested his hand on top of Scott's still trying to tuck Mitch in tighter.

Scott sighed and pulled his hand back. "I might as well go put on something more comfortable. Be right back."

He disappeared into one of the doors on the far side of the room, confirming Mitch's guess that it was his closet.

"What time is it?" Mitch asked the two men sitting with him.

Ryan glanced down at his watch and said, "Almost 2."

"Ugh," Mitch sunk back into the couch.

"Yep. You were down there for quite a while."

No wonder Mitch was still so tired. "Thank you. Both of you, for everything." He nodded to both of them.

"Of course," Kevin gave him a gentle smile.

Scott came back soon after wearing a pair of grey sweatpants and a black tank top and sat down next to Mitch on the couch. Not long after that, Avi, Esther, and Nicole came through the door, all wearing pajamas and being followed by Ben in uniform. They arranged themselves around Scott while Avi handed Mitch a bowl of soup, some crackers, and a bottle of water.

"I wasn't sure how you would be feeling, so I kept it simple. If you need something else, just let me know," Avi squeezed his hand at Mitch's grateful nod before squishing into a chair with Esther. (Mitch recognized her from the time she had burst in on him and Scott pretending to review papers to lecture Scott about getting enough sleep so she wouldn't need to keep pushing press conferences back later in the day while he slept in.)

When everyone was seated and ready, Scott began.

"I'm not sure how caught up everyone is individually." Mitch could hear the controlled anger in Scott's voice and glanced over to the ring of people propped up around them. No one else had joined them on the couch, and instead, there were determined faces surrounding them from the people attentively leaning on the wall, sharing chairs, and sitting on the floor.

"So today started as a long day of work for all of us. Coronation plans are being adjusted, tiny disasters cropping up that we take care of and fix. Everyone's busy and working hard. Including my dear father, apparently. But I'll come back to that. I was reviewing some of the reception press details with Esther for Friday about, an hour ago maybe? Doesn't matter. Matt came flying in and informed us that Mitch was being held in the dungeons for treason. And was going to be executed in the morning. Approved by my father."

Mitch could feel the eyes in the room turn to him in confusion, and a hint of apprehension.

"He told us how Mitch was being held in a pitch black room, handcuffed with a gag in his mouth, for hours. Matt was on duty and couldn't risk leaving to come tell me, us, so they both had to wait until the rotation before Matt could find us. Thank God Kevin was still here on night shift, because we found him and he was able to access the police report filed against Mitch. Which did not, in fact, give any evidence whatsoever of a trial. Or even the crimes itself. The crimes in question being: breaking and entering, theft, and attempted first degree murder. Of me."

Mitch felt a bit better when he saw Avi snort and Esther roll her eyes.

Scott agreed with them. "Yeah, exactly. He was literally charged for stealing a jacket that he sewed. And sorry Mitch," he turned and addressed him, "but literally no one in this room actually thinks you're capable of murder."

Mitch shrugged. "Matt looked really confused when he saw me in the cell. If he wouldn't have questioned it, he probably wouldn't have listened to my attempts to explain."

"Are you willing to explain what happened? It would probably help to have your full side of the story."

Mitch nodded. "Well, I guess my grand story starts last Thursday," Mitch dropped his eyes at the sudden intense focus on him and started picking at the blanket. "Scott and I were hanging out in the palace and Scott ran off to go grab some papers about an idea for a food program that he had. Connie came in while he was gone and she told me about how Scott's nephews had accidentally ripped some buttons off the coat I gave him while they were playing dress-up earlier last week, and Connie asked me if I could replace them so the nephews could return it and apologize. So she went and found my bag and put the coat in it after Scott came back, and I took it home to sew some matching buttons back on." Mitch paused at Scott's confused face. "Sorry to ruin the surprise, I guess. But anyway, I was on my way to meet Connie last night with the jacket when a cop stopped me and told me that I fit a profile and needed to be patted down. He asked about where I was going and I lied and said Scott, because I figured it could be more believable than if I said the queen, and then he got all excited and arrested me. Um, then I was taken to the station, and some old guy in the cell with me told me off for being an idiot trying to kill Scott with a pocketknife, which I guess I had in my bag with the coat because you never know when you might need it down there. They took me up here then in an elevator, and I wasn't... Doing so great at that point. So I don't have a lot of details, but they took me to a room, and the king was there and said something about my execution being in the morning and not telling Scott. Then they took me to a dungeon cell and that's about it." Mitch took a deep breath and looked up at Scott, who was still staring at him in confusion.

"What?" Mitch asked.

It was Kevin who answered. "The royal nephews aren't here, Mitch. The only members of the royal family who are here right now are the king and queen, Scott, and Lauren, who just came early to help with the ceremony preparation. The nephews are coming with the rest of the family on Thursday morning."

"But... _oh_." Mitch turned and met Scott's sad eyes. He reached out and took Scott's hand again. Scott gripped it tightly and clung on as he turned back to the group, replacing his stony mask.

"I think we can assume that, until morning at least, Mitch is safe here. Someone needs to go get Kirstie, too. We don't know what they're playing at yet, what their end goal is. In the meantime, we need to assume that she's a target also. I would volunteer, but..."

"You need to stay with Mitch," Kevin's voice cut through once again, agreeing with Scott's unspoken statement.

Mitch was the most in danger right now, and Scott being with him would keep him protected from anyone seeking to resume the execution plans. Someone would need to be pretty careless to cross Scott now, with him about to be crowned in about three days.

He squeezed Scott's hand and was reassured when Scott squeezed back.

"I'll go," Ben spoke up. "I've been to her apartment before with Kevin, so I know where it is."

Nicole raised her hand. "I can go. I might need to get dressed first, though." She glanced down at the shorts and sweatshirt she was wearing.

"I'll go too. It'll be easier to manage safety with two guards instead of one," Ryan added himself to the mix.

Scott nodded. "You should go in the morning. Sending people to knock on her door and bring her here at nearly 2 in the morning would freak her out a lot. Tell her the basics, but don't scare her. She can hear the details once she's here and we can have better security on her."

Avi's deep bass rumbled in the room as he spoke up. "Should we be considering moving Mitch and Kirstie somewhere more remote until we can ensure their safety?"

Scott shook his head. "Right now, my parents don't know we have Mitch. Keeping him here and under our own eyes is probably the safest. If we start moving him and Kirstie, it will attract attention and bring publicity into this. Having the media trying to crawl all over this is the last thing we need."

"I'll make sure nothing else leaves the palace. Having the coat's disappearance leaked was already too much," Esther piped up.

"Thank you. Alright, then. Ryan, Nicole, and Ben, go get Kirstie as soon as you can this morning. Kevin, can you keep a close eye on the security for Mitch and Kirstie? And keep an eye on what's happening in the dungeons, too. Make sure no one starts moving forward with unauthorized business. Matt's standing guard for now, but check the rotations and make sure only guards you can trust are posted around here. Esther, keep the press out of it, as usual. And when you get the chance in the morning, call Modernio and tell them that Mitch is busy with royal business or whatever so he doesn't get fired for being gone, and do what you can for Kirstie once we get her, too. Avi, keep an ear out. You can hear a lot in the kitchens, and I would appreciate anything you can find out from what the staff knows. Also, keep an eye on the dungeon area as much as possible since you're down there and close to the action. I'm going to stay here with Mitch for now. If something comes up, don't hesitate to come find me. Until morning, everyone should go get some rest. We don't know how this is going to end up, and having us all be over tired and stressed isn't going to help." Mitch felt Scott squeeze his hand again as he continued, "Be careful. Lives are at stake."

"One last thing before we disband," Ben started. "What are we going to do about Rick and Connie once they find out Mitch is gone?"

Scott smiled tightly. "I think I'll request to have one last brunch with my _dear_ mother and father before my coronation. And I'll have a few words with them. We can meet again after brunch sometime, alright? Then we can discuss where to go from there."

Murmurs of agreement trickled through the air and the group dispersed cautiously back into the hall. Avi was the last one to leave, taking the empty bowl from Mitch and nodding his respect to both Scott and Mitch, to Mitch's surprise.

The quiet in the room was unlike the silence of the dungeon. Scott turned to face Mitch, and he was grateful that Scott had already decided for him that he would be staying here.

"How are you right now?" Scott's weary eyes scanned Mitch's face. He was starting to drop the professional walls and become himself again, but Mitch could tell he was still wound too tight to rest.

"Better. Tired and sore, but otherwise I'm okay. I can't guarantee I'll still be fine once everything starts to settle in more, but for now, I'm good." Mitch tried a weak smile and was pleased when Scott seemed to relax slightly.

"You can take my bed. Go sleep. I need to... do something yet. Anything." Scott sighed. "I'm too awake and stressed to sleep right now."

Mitch wanted to argue, pull Scott to bed and wrap him up in a hug until they both fell asleep. But Scott was stubborn and Mitch was too exhausted to fight him on this.

Scott seemed to pick up on his internal struggle and chuckled. "Just go. You can be worried about me tomorrow when I break down and start clinging to you like a koala. I'm just gonna work for a while, nothing too intense, okay?"

Mitch nodded reluctantly and released Scott's hand. He pushed himself up off the couch and dragged himself over to the steps, toeing off his shoes at the bottom before pushing his heavy limbs up to the higher floor. Now that he was promised sleep and safety, his body had clearly decided that going to bed was an immediate necessity, and he could feel his eyelids trying to close before he even made it to the bed. He flopped down on top of the covers and didn't even bother trying to climb under before he let himself drift off.

Later, he cracked open one bleary eye when he was woken by a hand undoing the top of his jeans.

"Wha..." he tried to ask what Scott was doing, but he couldn't form words very well in his half-conscious state of being.

"You're sore and exhausted. I don't want you to be grumpy with me in the morning if I let you sleep in skinny jeans, Mitchy."

"Oh, ok," Mitch mumbled and shut his eyes again. "Not how I 'xpected this to go."

He could have sworn he heard a little "me neither" from Scott, but he was already sinking back into the blissful darkness. 


	21. XXI

Mitch woke to the sound of low voices talking quietly at the door. He couldn't quite make out what either of them were saying, but the deep rumble plus the gentle lighting in the room was enough to drag him out of the realm of sleep.

He sat up and stretched his arms above his head, relishing in the ache of his less-stiff muscles, much improved since leaving the cell. The shifting of fabric against his skin made Mitch suddenly aware that he was under the covers of the bed, wearing just his boxers and an oversized t-shirt that must have belonged to Scott.

So he didn't dream the whole pants-thing last night. Well, that morning, technically.

He turned his head as he heard the door click shut and saw Scott notice his newfound alertness.

"Well good morning, Sleeping Beauty," he raised the object in his hands. "Avi brings well-wishes and breakfast for you."

"How long was I out?"

"A while." Scott waved him over to the little lounge and handed him the plate he was holding. "It's quarter after 9, so I assume that my father has realized you're missing by now."

"Has he said anything?" Mitch looked up cautiously from his eggs and toast.

"Not yet. We've all been waiting anxiously, but so far it seems like we're not gonna hear anything until I confront them at brunch." Scott continued while Mitch ate. "We got Kirstie this morning and she's been staying in a guest room. Kevin's got heavy security on her too—I think Ben's been posted outside her door personally, until we know more about my parents at least. Oh, and she apparently grabbed your, and I quote, 'sleepover swag', that was at her apartment?" Scott reached over behind the couch and pulled out the bag.

Mitch set the plate down and made grabby hands until Scott handed it over. "I almost forgot I had this. It's some spare clothes and stuff for when I stay overnight and shit, you know? Never thought it would end up being used like this." Mitch hesitated before he asked his question. "When is the brunch?"

Scott sighed and pulled his legs up onto the chair. "I had the kitchen staff tell them that I was requesting brunch at 10:30 with them, so just a little over an hour."

"How are you doing?"

"I should be the one asking you that," Scott huffed. "I dunno... I feel like I should be more nervous. Considering they were willing to orchestrate a scheme for murder. And I'm beyond furious that they chose you as their victim. But... they're my parents, you know? I guess the optimist in me wants to wait until I hear their side of it before I jump to conclusions? But I'm also torn between having them arrested and... I don't know."

Mitch smiled down at his empty plate. "You want to avenge my honor?"

Scott snorted. "Yeah, basically."

"Do you have any idea what prompted all of... this?"

"Well, there's a whole bunch of stuff that comes to mind, but nothing really seems to make sense. We don't know enough about what's going on. It could be anything from a drunken idea to the beginnings of a revolution... I just don't want to believe anything until we know who's in on it, or the full scale of this, or the motivation behind it. Ugh, this is not how I was expecting this week to fall apart." Scott buried his face in his hands.

Mitch sighed. "I'm so sorry, Scott."

"It's their fault, not yours. They made their choices and now they have to live with the consequences." Scott rubbed his eyes and pushed back against the couch. "I hate sitting here and waiting for brunch. _God_ , this is awful."

"You should try sitting in a dungeon waiting for execution." There was a moment of shocked silence until Mitch's brain caught up with what his mouth had just said. "Uh, I mean—"

Scott burst into laughter. Rolling over, full body shaking, tears streaming down his face, laughter.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" He kept trying to gasp while he wiped his streaming eyes. "That's not funny, I'm sorry!"

Mitch giggled hesitantly. "Did you sleep at all last night?"

Scott managed to catch his breath enough to answer at last. "Not—not enough. Couldn't. I was too mad. Wanted to keep an eye on you."

"Ok, new plan then. I'm going to go take a shower and put some fresh clothes on, and you are going to take a nap. There's no way I'm letting you go to brunch like this. I will make Kevin sit on you if I must." Mitch crossed his arms and dared Scott to argue with his fierce expression.

"Fine. But I can't promise I'll actually be able to fall asleep."

"Just try. You need it, sis. Any avenging of my honor must be done by someone who is able to accurately appreciate my awesomeness." Mitch teased.

"Drag me, Mitchy."

"Go! Sleep!"

Mitch shooed Scott up to his bed before carrying his bag into Scott's bathroom and _wow_ was this the bathroom of legends. There was a cute little clock on the counter which he used to keep track of his time spent trying to wash the dungeon smell out of his hair in the amazing and huge shower, and remove the last remnants of old makeup off his face. When he was finally satisfied with his appearance and outward ability to appear relatively unaffected by yesterday's events, it was about fifteen minutes till show-time. 

And by show-time, he meant brunch.

And by brunch, he meant sitting alone and stressing about whether Scott was okay and safe and not paying the price for interrupting Mitch's execution. Although Mitch could not be more grateful that he did intervene.

When he exited the bathroom, he was greeted with the sight of a blond giant sprawled across the bed, snoring lightly.

He smiled to himself as he made his way over to the man on the bed and rubbed Scott's back gently.

"Scotty, you gotta wake up."

"Nuh uh."

"Yeah huh. It's 10:15. You have to go soon."

Scott pushed himself up quickly, nearly knocking Mitch over, as he heard the time.

Wild, panicked eyes met Mitch's, and Scott asked, "Come with me? Please?"

Mitch hesitated. He wanted to ignore logic and just say yes, but... "Wouldn't that defeat the purpose of me hiding in here if I came with you?"

"Can you—can you stand outside the dining hall then? You can listen in, and Matt and Kevin and the whole gang will probably be hanging around there to keep an eye on things. They'll keep you safe. Please? I need you there, even if I can't see you."

"Okay."

Like Mitch would ever deny him anything, let alone something so simple and important to him as this.


	22. XXII

Mitch was biting his nails raw. He'd been standing outside the open door to the dining hall, back pressed against the wall to keep him out of view, flanked by Matt and Ryan and across from Kevin standing on the opposite side of the hall, for what felt like an eternity. The tense silence in the hall echoed the silence within. Scott had pasted on a false, cheery face before sitting down with his parents, of which Matt had gotten a glimpse of the queen, and had reported her as appearing "pale and anxious".

Scott was playing the role of oblivious innocence well, making small talk at first and then letting the thick tension grow in the room as he continued to eat casually and appear unaware. But Mitch knew how he had been terrified to approach the room. How he had stalled briefly before they left to switch his tank top to a t-shirt and nervously laughed about how it was just a brunch with his parents. How he had buried his face in Mitch's shoulder and clung onto him in a tight hug before they had ventured out and made their way to the hall. How Mitch had clung right back because if something went wrong... He didn't want to think about it.

Mitch was a bit reassured by the mood of the room. The king and queen seemed more nervous than hostile, and Kevin, who could peer through into the room undetected from the other side of the hall, kept updating them on the lack of aggression or concerning behaviors. Scott was keeping a tight control on the room and drawing out the discomfort from his parents while he ate. He kept instigating small talk to maintain the image of ignorance, but Mitch was so anxious waiting for Scott to drop the act, he was about ready to grab Matt's hand for support while he listened.

"—very glad there's no media coverage of the reception party!" Scott was saying. "Really, all of this paperwork and the constant stream of details to review is exhausting!"

"You do look a little tired today, dear. Did you sleep enough last night?" Connie's soft voice echoed.

"Not at all!" Scott laughed lightly. "I was up almost all night juggling trying to finalize my speech and figuring out how to get Mitch out of the dungeons."

There it was. And Mitch thought that the silence before was tense. The guards had all frozen and were concentrating very carefully on the sound from the dining hall. Inside, it had gone deathly still, and Mitch could only hear his own shallow breathing.

"You see," Scott continued, keeping his voice light, "apparently, he was wrongfully kidnapped last night and imprisoned here! In our _very_ _own_ palace. Someone had this _delusional_ idea that he was trying to kill me. Of course, that's ridiculous, so we naturally let him out and sent him off on a train this morning, along with Kirstie to make sure they're safe. We figured it would be better to have them out of the city until we could figure out if they were safe again, and of course, _who would do such a thing?_ "

Mitch could feel himself struggling to pull breaths in as he heard Scott's voice slowly get tighter and angrier. He had no idea how Scott was able to keep himself controlled and rational. If Mitch was in his place, he would surely be screaming and crying, unable to get a single full sentence out, let alone piece enough together to get the cold words out. He knew he could be sarcastic, witty, sharp-tongued—the whole delightful package—but Mitch was lost on Scott. He couldn't help but admire the sheer self-control Scott was demonstrating in comparison to the absolute wreck Mitch knew he would be if Scott's life had been the one on the line.

"Scott—" He could hear the king trying to interrupt.

"Go ahead. Explain yourselves. Good luck trying to convince me of your innocence."

Mitch could see Kevin's hand start to drift towards the holster on his belt as Rick started to talk.

"You're always _gone_. You've spent as much time down there as you have up here in the last few months! Yes, you get your work done, but it's all so _foreign_ now. You keep writing reports and signing off on bills about—about the lower-city, and all these unnecessary things! For God's sake, you funded a damn _therapy and counseling program_ out of your _own_ pocket!"

"Should I not have? I have all this money that I'll never use. All it does is sit in vaults and show up as a bunch of little numbers in the bank. Why can't I spend it on helping our people?"

"Of _course_ we support you doing charity work, but then do it _through our charities!_ That's what they're here for!"

"I _do_. You would prefer I not also take direct action for my country? Not to try to fix the issues that prompt the existence of your charities?" Scott was seething now, Mitch could hear, over the quiet sniffles he assumed were coming from the silent queen.

"We would prefer you focus on the _necessities!_ You are abandoning all of your education in your random quest to, what? _Help a few poor people?_ "

"This is not a _random quest_ , Father. When was the last time you went below the third level? Have you _seen_ the life you have trapped them in down there with your own eyes? The world you created for them has been systematically killing and enslaving _millions_ of people across Asdria for _years!_ The only reason they haven't revolted yet is because this is somehow better than what Grandfather did!"

"Do you even hear yourself? You cannot be trusted to govern a country like this! If you keep appeasing their demands, they will rise up against you and the upper-city! They will overthrow your rule and the country will fall apart at the seams as they try to create a world with no rules. _No laws!_ It will be chaos and _war_ , and it will all be because of _you_."

"If the people demand change, I will listen. Asdria is not our country, it is _theirs_. We are only the figureheads."

"You would throw away everything— _everything_ —that your lineage—your _grandfather_ , _me_ — _EVERYTHING_ that we have tried to give you? And all because of _some boy_ —"

" _His name is Mitch_ —"

"—that befriended you? That gave you _sad stories_ about a difficult childhood? How can you not see the damage he's done? We need him out of the way! If he was _gone_ , we might have been able to remind you of how things are done. How they've _always_ been done!"

"You were going to scapegoat _half of our country_ in an effort to convince me of the 'evils of the lower world'?"

"If it brought back reason to your misguided rule, _yes!_ This _one_ boy has managed to distract you from the _ENTIRE LIFE_ we have raised you in! I cannot _understand_ why you let this happen. Why you would _throw all of this away_ , for one _goddamned boy_ from the under-city, your _entire_ _LIFE_ —"

" _I love him_."

Three heads swiveled towards Mitch. He could feel the concerned gazes of the guards, but couldn't quite meet their eye levels. His chest felt tight, and his mouth was so dry suddenly, it almost hurt to try to swallow. He couldn't hear anything, couldn't make his eyes focus. He reached out and gripped Matt's hand in an attempt to steady himself.

He missed a chunk of the conversation within the hall while he sucked in air and tried to hear anything over the blood rushing through his ears, but he was finally able to focus enough to hear what Scott was saying, low and dangerous.

"—honor you as my parents and respect your titles. But on Friday, the _moment_ I am crowned, this palace and everything in it falls under my name. You will _not_ be welcome here when I am king. I expect that you will pack whatever belongings you wish to take with you in the next two days, because the _second_ that the ceremony ends, you will be expected to leave. You can choose one of the mansions to live in, I don't care. But you _will_ leave before the reception begins, and you will not even _think_ of returning without a direct request from me. I know I cannot order you around, but I highly suggest you confine yourselves to your quarters until the ceremony on Friday. There will be heavy security on both of you, and if you attempt to try something else—if you _dare_ try to touch him again—the consequences will be _much_ worse than exile."

Mitch could hear Scott take a deep breath and continue with the same cheery voice that everything had started with.

"I do believe that I have made myself clear. I'll see you both on Friday, then!"

And then a chair was pushed back and Scott walked out of the room and into the hall past Mitch and the guards. He was a sight to behold: the tall, purposeful man furiously striding down the hall wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt, while still somehow managing to project such a fierce, regal aura.

Mitch waited until the doors were shut behind Scott, blocking them from the view of the dining hall, before he pulled his hand out of Matt's secure grip and hurried down the hallway to catch up with him. Scott had put his blank face back on, but Mitch could see cracks forming as he struggled to keep himself together for just a few more seconds. He didn't try to say anything, didn't try to touch Scott. Just matched his pace and walked with him back to his quarters.

Mitch shut the door gently behind them when they finally reached his room, and then the facade crumbled at last. Scott managed to get his slippers off at the door, but Mitch was glad he had skipped putting shoes on before, because it made the amount of time between the first hitched sob and Mitch being able to get his arms around Scott and squeeze him just that much shorter.

Scott was hesitant at first, cautious at returning the hug, but Mitch's firm grip on him seemed to convince him to do otherwise, and he was quickly clinging onto Mitch desperately, like he was his only lifeline.

Mitch managed to lead Scott across the room and sit them both down at the end of his bed. He was glad the lights were mostly off, except for a lamp on the other side of the room next to the piano, because the sight of Scott so upset was hurting his soul. He could feel his own eyes starting to well up too, fed by the confusing jumble of emotions over the last two days and the raw pain from the man hunched over him, face buried in his neck.

Mitch let his own tears fall while he tried to focus on rubbing Scott's back. He didn't say anything still; he could feel how the quiet in the room was such a contrast to the yelling in the dining hall before, and he was willing to keep it that way as long as he could.

How had Scott been able to keep all of this emotion bottled up for hours? How had he _possibly_ managed to keep himself composed until they got back here?

Mitch was seriously in awe of his control, but he could feel the ache in his chest when he thought about how much it must have hurt.

He kept his hand moving in steady circles and settled himself in. He refused to get up and leave Scott until he let it all out and maybe got some more sleep, too.

It seemed like sleep would be more likely, considering how heavy Scott was getting on his chest and shoulder.

Mitch pulled a hand off of Scott's back to help readjust them and turn them around so Mitch was propped up against the pillows with Scott laying next to him on his right with his head on his lap. Mitch pulled an extra blanket from the bottom of the bed up and over Scott and his own legs.

Scott was still clinging to him, but now his arms were curled around his leg instead of his torso. Mitch let his right arm drape across Scott's shoulders and back, hopefully acting as a comforting weight, and let his left hand slowly start combing through Scott's wavy hair.

It reminded Mitch strangely of last Friday again, when he had accidentally fallen asleep on Scott in his living room while Scott played with his hair. He couldn't tell if Scott was awake now or if he'd fallen asleep against him, but he wasn't moving either way. He kept dragging his hand softly through the blonde locks on his lap and breathed in the smell of Scott around him, letting the tears drip down his face.


	23. XXIII

Mitch was pouting. He'd given up trying to pretend he wasn't after Avi had so quickly pointed it out. He was sitting in the kitchen watching said chef prepare the beginnings of lunch on Thursday morning, face smushed into one hand as he leaned on a counter.

"You can't keep looking like that, Mitch. You're going to make everyone think I'm boring."

Mitch huffed and sat up straight, glaring at Avi.

"Literally everyone knows you're not."

"I know, but everyone's watching you right now, so I would appreciate it if you could make it look like my _incredibly_ entertaining company was enough for you."

He rolled his eyes, but he knew it was true. Apparently, gossip spreads around the palace staff like a plague when the prince has a shouting match with the king, resulting in both the king and the queen shutting themselves in their quarters and cutting off all contact with the rest of the palace. Thankfully, no one seemed to know the exact details of the fight, (except for Scott's group of trusted people who were watching Mitch and Kirstie), but they clearly knew enough about Mitch being an important factor in the whole affair and possibly one of the causes. He'd heard whispers behind his back and caught at least a dozen people staring at him when they thought he wasn't looking in the last two days.

Of which, he'd spent mostly without Scott. _Not_ that it was the cause of his pouting or anything. He was content letting Avi think he was just grumpy about Kirstie shooing him out of her guest room (where he'd spent the last two days lounging around and wishing Scott could just finish his paperwork already) so he could go bother someone else.

He had been aware that he was being a _bit_ clingy and mopey, so it wasn't a huge surprise when she decided he could go talk to someone else. But what could he say? He had kinda been hoping for a chance to set up one of those "Oh, no! I guess we'll just have to share the bed!" scenarios with Scott on Tuesday, but then he'd retreated to Kirstie's room and ended up staying there instead.

With the whole drama and concern about Scott's upcoming rule, Scott had decided that he _really_ needed to sit down and go through all of the contracts and documents he and his father would have to sign to legally pass control of each system to Scott. He couldn't know if something had been altered without him double checking _all_ of them, so he was suddenly swamped with even _more_ last minute work than before. And Scott had also admitted that he had lied about just needing to finish the last details of his speech. Scott had, in fact, not started it, and was slightly stressed about getting it done in time before he had to present it to the entire country on live television.

So, with a _massive_ amount of work to finish in not _nearly_ enough time, Scott had apologetically left a few minutes after he had woken up. Mitch had lounged around his room for hours, waiting hopefully for Scott to come back, before realizing that he was being ridiculous and should go find something better to do.

Upon finding Kirstie, he had managed to convince her (because he had promised Scott not to leave the palace) to go back to his apartment and pick up some of his clothes so he could have more than just the spare outfit he had left at Kirstie's, and the unfinished pieces of her dress so he could finish it. Between filling Kirstie in on the details of everything that had occurred in the last two days and frantically trying to finish the dress with the few materials Kirstie had been able to bring back for him, he had _sort of_ become a nuisance.

This wasn't even the first time she'd kicked him out. He'd already been sent into Matt's care, who had attempted to explain the layout of the palace (with maps!) to him better so he wouldn't get lost, Nicole's studio, where she had given him a makeover and a gentle shoulder rub to soothe his still-aching muscles, Esther's office, where he had basically been sat down and put to work sorting junk mail out from official business letters, and even to a gym with Kevin, who hadn't forced him to work out, but instead had some of his specialized guards, two girls named Nina and Cora, teach him some self-defense.

It's not like he didn't want to hang out with Avi now, it's just that he wanted to check on Scott. He wanted to be there for him, offer his shoulder again or try to help cheer him up. But he couldn't be a distraction right now. So he was sitting in the kitchen watching Avi prepare a fancy marinade for some chicken. And possibly trying to figure out how to volunteer himself as the person to bring Scott his food. That wouldn't be a distraction, right? Scott needed to eat.

Besides, as much as Mitch wanted to see Scott because he knew he was _safe_ with Scott, Scott was still his best friend. He knew that Scott was overworking himself trying to finish everything and make it the best product that he possibly could. Scott would need a break at some point, and Mitch wanted to be there for him. The safety of being with him was just an additional benefit.

Mitch had actually managed to process the events of Monday night, but wasn't very pleased with the jumpiness and random stabs of anxiety that had come with it. The constantly changing presence of all these people he knew, but who weren't Scott, was not exactly helping his mood either.

"You're making me look boring again."

Mitch jolted upright from his uncomfortable slouch.

"Sorry, Avi," he muttered. "Are you almost done with that?"

Avi fixed him a knowing look. "No. I'm just getting started."

Mitch slunk back down into his slouch.

"Mitch, you should go find something more entertaining to do. You aren't going to magically start having fun watching me mix spices."

"But Kirstie said to shoo."

"Have you finished her dress yet? There's other places you can work on it than her room."

Mitch perked up slightly at the mention of the dress. "Yeah, actually. All I want to do with it yet is have her try it on to make sure it fits right."

"Well then why aren't you doing that right now? You know she's almost as excited about it as you are. She wouldn't 'shoo' you out if you told her it was ready."

"But what if she doesn't like it? And she was _pretty_ eager to make me leave."

Avi snickered. "Please. You have everyone on the edge of their seats waiting to see the dress. She'll like it, I guarantee." Avi glanced over at him with a smirk. "Have you ever noticed that she always makes you leave when the guards rotate?"

Mitch tilted his chin. "Uh... no. Why does that matter?"

"Because she has a total of three guards watching her door that switch out every couple of hours. Kevin decided he wanted Ryan, Matt, and _Ben_ to keep an eye on you two."

"...So?"

"Oh my god," Avi turned back to his array of spices. "You'll figure it out eventually."

Mitch shrugged. Sure he would, but that can be later. When he doesn't have priorities. "How long do you think that's gonna take yet?"

"A while."

"Have you ever heard of the number system?"

If Avi's gonna be sassy, Mitch is gonna be sassy right back. Deal with it, buddy.

"Mitch, this isn't even Scott's dinner."

He blinked in surprise. He hadn't said anything about his sneaky plans. "Uh—"

Avi fixed him with another exasperated stare. "Look, I _promise_ you will see him after dinner, okay? Go finish the dress. That way he'll know where to find you."

That... actually made sense. Go back to Kirstie's room so Scott knows where he is. Because then Scott can find him when he's done, rather than Mitch barging in on him while he's busy. _Damn_ , Avi's a genius. Or maybe Mitch is just a bit sleep deprived from waiting until Kirstie fell asleep the past few nights to work on the dress so it would stay as much of a surprise as possible...

"Okay. Bye then!"

Mitch leaped up from his uncomfortable perch and scurried across the kitchen, ignoring the laughs from Avi as he took off.

 _Thank you Matt_ for teaching him how to get around the palace. Sure, he was _technically_ supposed to wait until Ryan, Matt, or Ben came to escort him back, but with the king and queen basically quarantining themselves in their quarters, he figured he was safe enough to walk between the kitchens and the guest rooms. _Maybe I should knock on wood, just in case,_ he thought to himself. A quick tap in passing on a weird sculpture thingy made him snicker. Better to be safe than sorry, he reasoned.


	24. XXIV

Avi _lied_.

It has been _hours_ since dinner, and Scott has most definitely _not_ come to see him.

Mitch is doing his best to at least _pretend_ to not be glancing at the door every time he hears literally anything move, but Kirstie keeps watching him carefully. He's pretty sure she thinks he's just on edge, considering the events of Monday night, but he's also pretty sure that it's the only reason she hasn't sent him to go bother someone else yet, regardless of the late hour.

Well, that and the dress. She _loved_ it, (much to Mitch's relief), and had squealed so loud when she saw it finished for the first time, that Matt had stuck his head in the room to check that they were okay.

(So what if it reminded Mitch of last Thursday when Matt had done the same thing to him and Scott in the dining hall.)

That had been _hours_ ago though, and now he's just been sitting here, unable to focus enough on anything to try to distract himself from the ticking clock.

It must be after 10:00 now, and Mitch feels kind of ridiculous. He should try to sleep or something. Tomorrow's Friday—at _last_ —and as much as Mitch was anxious for Scott to be crowned already, (okay, so maybe Monday night was bothering him a bit more than he'd care to admit), he also knew it was going to be a long day.

But he could hear shuffling feet outside the door. And sure, it was _probably_ just the guys rotating guard shift again, but... There's always a slight chance that it—

Mitch flew upright from his burrow of blankets on the couch.

No, he couldn't have imagined that knock.

He was about ready to fling himself over to the door, but Kirstie was already there and opening it.

"Hey, Kirstie. Mind if I borrow Mitch for a little bit?"

Mitch could have jumped for joy. He frantically squirmed his way out of his little cocoon and stumbled over to the door.

"Oh, thank God," Kirstie was saying. "I was beginning to worry that you'd forgotten."

Okay, then maybe she wasn't as oblivious to the cause behind his jitteriness as Mitch had thought.

He followed Scott out the door and down the hall. When Scott turned to lead them down further into the depths of the palace instead of heading for his room, Mitch turned to look at him.

"Where are we going?"

Scott grinned down at him. "I wanna show you something."

"Show me what?"

"Nope. It's a surprise."

Mitch groaned. Scott's surprises could be anything from a random dinner outing to that silly-string stuff being sprayed in his face upon opening his apartment door.

"Don't worry, it's a good surprise. Kirstie says you'll like it. And I _have_ actually talked about this before."

Mitch grumbled as they kept walking. They'd talked about a _lot_ of things. How was that supposed to help?

The elevator was a surprise. It was one of those tiny ones that were inside really tall buildings, like some of the skyscrapers in the upper-city that had fancy restaurants Scott had insisted on taking him to.

When they walked out into the little room at the top, Mitch was still confused. They must be in that massive tower that was behind the Senate chamber, but why would Scott take him here? It was late, there was no way they could see the city that well.

Scott turned to him with a grin on his face.

"Do you remember the day we met?"

Mitch eyed him warily. "Yeah..."

"Remember how I wanted to show you and Kirstie the moon, but you both said not to bother?"

Scott held the door in front of them open, and waved for Mitch to follow him out onto the little balcony. Mitch felt his jaw drop as he looked up and out over the city.

The lights from the first level glimmered to the south, but everywhere else, it was like an ocean of inky black. He could see the faint glow of light from the levels beneath them, below where the city block ended and met the palace's smaller foundation block. Everywhere else, the night was a rolling wave of darkness. He could almost see movement in the stillness, the slight breeze twisting shapeless fog and clouds against the invisible horizon. He couldn't see where the world must turn, couldn't see the gentle curve in the train tubes through the deep black that was so rich it was almost blue. He could guess where the horizon must lay though, because he could see where it must stop. Because he could see the stars.

The twinkling specks of light flickered through the fog near where the horizon must be, but above the fog, they shone as bright as... as Scott's eyes in that blanket fort Mitch had made him build weeks ago. He could see the moon. It was just a pale sliver in the sky, not the ball of glowing yellow that Mitch had always pictured it as. He let his gaze drift up farther and farther as he soaked it all in. The cool night air felt so crisp against his breathless lungs, he almost shivered, and pressed in closer to Scott's side for warmth.

"It's beautiful," he whispered.

"Yeah, it is," Scott was staring at him with an intense focus in his eyes when Mitch turned his head.

"You're not even looking at— _oh_." Mitch felt another shiver run down his spine when he realized what Scott meant.

"Will you sit with me?"

Mitch followed Scott down onto the blanket that Scott must have laid out beneath them. He couldn't decide where he wanted to look: out at the night sky or up at Scott's face.

"I have a confession. Two, actually." Scott started.

"Does this have something to do with those two secrets you and Kirstie were talking about last Saturday?"

Scott chuckled. "Yeah. Although, if I'm coming _completely_ clean here, there's actually three secrets."

" _Three?!_ "

Scott's eyes had those little crinkles around them again. Mitch settled for looking at Scott for now. The sky could wait.

"I got a tattoo."

" _What?_ "

"Last Saturday, when you had to go get the fabric for Kirstie's dress and Kirstie and I snuck out, we went to a tattoo parlour and I got a tattoo."

Mitch could feel his mouth hanging open again.

"I didn't know how much time we were gonna have, so it was a short trip. I took Kirstie up here—not this tower, I mean the first level—to a garden and I showed her the moon. We talked a little bit and I decided I wanted to just do it. So we went back down to the seventh level, to Kirstie's friend—Mark? I think his name was—and he gave me a tattoo."

Scott held out his left hand for Mitch to see. On the inside of his middle finger was a little crescent.

"It's the moon," Mitch murmured, reaching out his hands to grab Scott's, running his finger over the little shape.

Scott hummed in agreement. "I thought it was fitting, almost like a little souvenir of the time the three of us met. It started out as just a little poetic idea. You have constellations of stars on your neck, and I wanted the moon, because you mean everything to me and I wanted the tattoo to reflect that. And then it was just too perfect when I told Kirstie about it, and she got all excited and showed me the sun she has inked on her shoulder blade. But it's also more than that. It's a reminder for me. This way, no matter what happens between the three of us, even if we, God forbid, part ways next week and I never see you two again, I'll always have a reminder of you. Of life down there. I refuse to accept the possibility that I could end up like my father, or my grandfather—uncaring of the diversity and people I can't see, focused only on the pretty, privileged life up here." Scott paused to take a deep breath. "My father calls me a madman for caring about life in the lower-city. He blames you for changing me. He doesn't realize that we only met because I was already breaking away. You were just the catalyst that brought me to my knees, in tears for the country I thought I knew."

"I'm sorry," Mitch whispered, stunned and still tracing the crescent on Scott's finger.

"I'm not." Scott was as calm as the softness of the wispy fog tendrils gracefully swirling in the distance. "I contemplated showing my father the tattoo at the brunch on Tuesday. I wonder if he would have been as mad about it as he was when I told him I'm in love with you."

Mitch felt his heart stop, felt his fingers freeze their pattern on Scott's. So he _hadn't_ imagined it, then.

Scott closed his hand around Mitch's, pulled his other hand up to brush at Mitch's hair where it tickled at his forehead in the breeze.

"That's the second confession. Secret, whatever. It's not exactly a secret though, 'cause Kirstie knows. When I took her up to the garden to show her the moon, I asked her if this was something you'd be okay with me pursuing or if I should leave it alone."

Mitch finally figured out how to speak again. "What did she say?"

"She told me if I didn't tell you soon she was gonna tell you _for_ me. I asked how soon ' _soon_ ' is, and she managed to talk me into my coronation being the absolute deadline. I've spent all week trying to work up the courage to tell you, but I'll be honest, I got a bit distracted over the whole treason-and-execution thing. I didn't actually have a plan for how I was going to tell you until lunch today, actually. How's this going so far? Good? Not good?"

Mitch closed his eyes and leaned his head into Scott's shoulder with a laugh. "Good. Very good. Five out of five stars, would recommend."

"Excellent. I figure if I can get through this without it falling apart completely, I can probably make it through tomorrow."

"What else is there to 'get through'?" Mitch tilted his head up so he could see Scott's face again, but refused to lift it off Scott's shoulder.

"I don't actually know your thoughts on this. Kirstie made it sound promising, but I don't want to take her word for it. Are you interested in, well, trying this? _Us?_ "

Mitch stared at Scott for a second. "Scott. I am literally so in love with you, it's ridiculous. I can't believe I didn't jump you months ago and scare you away, honestly. Of _course_ I want to try this." A stray thought floated through his head. "Can _this_ involve kissing, by any chance?"

Oh boy. And he thought Scott had been smiling before.

"Yes. _Absolutely_ yes."

Mitch felt lightheaded. This was—perfect? No, that couldn't possibly capture it all. How much excitement and contentment and anxiousness to please just do it already and calmness because they didn't need to rush and Scott loved him. Scott _loved_ him.

 _Scott_ loved _him_.

There was just _one_ thing tickling at the back of his mind, that one little sliver of, _but wait_.

Before Scott could lean in all the way, because he was _leaning in_ and Mitch was too, Mitch _had_ to stop himself and throw his hand up. (Oh, why did he do this _before_ they kissed? Couldn't he wait until _after_ he got a taste of him? Just in case?)

"That's only two things. You said there were three?"

Scott looked puzzled for a second. "Oh! You mean the secrets?"

Mitch nodded.

"I told you both of mine; those were my two confessions. The other secret is just that Kirstie and Ben are dating."

" _What_ —"

But Scott's mouth was on his and his hand was in Mitch's hair and Mitch's hands were clutching at Scott's shirt and dragging him closer and there was a hand at the back of Mitch's neck and he couldn't really think anymore.

As desperate as it seemed like it might be, the kiss stayed very gentle. Mitch felt his chest tighten with giddiness as he felt Scott's scruff brush his chin. The little stab of anxiety that had been bothering him the last few days was gone now, banished to the background of his brain as he focused on this.

The hand on the back of his neck slid forward and caressed his jawline as Scott leaned back. Mitch didn't release the grip he had on Scott's shirt, and Scott didn't try to pull back farther. Mitch felt Scott's thumb run along the line of his scar across his jaw, then up to the corner of his mouth as Scott stared down at him in awe.

"You know," Scott started, "I was worried this might end up feeling weird after all this time just dodging around each other, to finally figure this out, but it doesn't. I'm—Mitch, I'm _so_ happy."

Mitch loosened the grip on Scott's shirt. "Sappy response or sassy response?"

Scott grinned. "Sassy."

"Good luck finding time to be king, because I'm gonna need a _whole lot more_ of that."

Scott chuckled, the gooeyness still heavy in his eyes as he leaned forward again, close enough that Mitch could feel his breath on his lips.

"And the sappy one?"

Mitch felt like he was going to burst from all the pressure in his chest. He could feel himself leaning into Scott on instinct, his eyes already sliding closed again in anticipation.

"This feels like coming home," he whispered.

And then Scott was there again. Mitch slid his arms up around Scott's neck, feeling Scott's hands drag down his sides to his hips as he leaned over him. Mitch could feel the cool stone of the marble wall against his side and the gentle breeze ghosting over him, contrasting with the warmth of the two leaning into each other. Mitch was faintly aware of his heartbeat drumming heavily in his ears and the dizziness in his head as clung to each other.

He jumped when something cold hit his arm. It was wet? Was—was Scott crying? Mitch almost had to check that it wasn't actually _him_ crying from happiness. But then Scott jerked too, and pulled back quickly.

Mitch opened his eyes in confusion, and was confronted, not with a weepy prince, but instead with a confused Scott staring up at the sky. Until he flinched again and raised a hand to wipe something off his face and _oh_ —that was thunder wasn't it?

Mitch giggled at the disappointed look on Scott's face, then at the shock as there was a flash and the sky crackled, sending sheets of rain pouring down on them. They both scrambled to their feet at the frigid water, Mitch still laughing at the sudden change in atmosphere. And yes, he was cold, but, _God_ , Scott was dripping wet now—so Mitch pulled him close for just _one more_ quick kiss. Scott rolled his eyes a little bit but obliged, cupping Mitch's face in his hands.

Until Mitch shivered violently once. Scott pulled back quickly and ushered him back inside, barely pausing to snatch the dripping blanket off the ground and drag it inside after them.

"That's what I get for planning this at the last minute," Scott grumbled, trying to wring out the blanket as much as he could.

Mitch snickered at him. "It's just the universe's way of reminding you that you should be going to bed soon with tomorrow being so busy."

Scott laid out the blanket to dry and followed him into the elevator, grumbling the whole time about the weather bullying him. He slid his hand into Mitch's as they walked back through the halls towards the rooms. As they neared the hall where the guest rooms were, Scott slowed.

"You know," he glanced over at Mitch, "it's pretty late. Kirstie might be asleep."

Mitch grinned. "Yeah. I wouldn't want to wake her up or anything."

Scott nodded enthusiastically. "Exactly! It might be a better idea to just play it safe and go back to my room instead."

Mitch was not going to argue with that. They ended up taking turns in the bathroom, peeling off their sopping clothes and toweling their hair as dry as they could, before changing into more comfortable sleepwear.

Mitch ended up in his—thankfully still dry—boxers and another oversized t-shirt from Scott's closet. (He fully intended to steal all of Scott's clothes, or at least as much as he could get away with.) Scott began crawling into his bed after Mitch, but Mitch had to protest Scott's choice of a tank top and sweatpants.

"I'm not wearing pants. It is _ridiculously_ unfair of you to be wearing so many clothes."

Scott rolled his eyes and pulled his tank top off, chucking it across the room to land at the floor of his closet. "You're such a bully."

Mitch could feel his breath catch in his throat at the wide expanse of skin suddenly bared in front of his eyes.

He hummed vaguely in agreement as he stared, distantly recognizing Scott flip a light switch and plunge them into darkness.

"Hey!" Mitch hissed. "I was still looking!"

Scott slid under the sheets next to him and pulled Mitch back to his chest.

"You can appreciate my incredible muscles in the morning. Right now, it's bedtime."

"And you call _me_ the bully."

Mitch relaxed into the solid figure behind him and closed his eyes, relishing in the peace and contentment still coursing through his veins. The heavy weight of Scott's arm draping over him almost made him grin in elation, but he settled for just squeezing himself in tighter and sliding his hand into Scott's.


	25. XXV

"Mitchy. You gotta wake up now. Mitchy. Mitchy. Mitchy."

There was a finger poking him. The finger evolved into a hand grabbing at him, and then there were more fingers trailing across his side and under the edge of his shirt and _oh no_ —

"No!" Mitch yelped and shot upright, flinging his heavy limbs at the cackling monster draped half way over him. "No tickling!"

"I did _nothing_ —"

"You are _so_ full of shit, Scott." The smirking man-child leaned back, giving Mitch the space to sit up better. "I assume it's time for me to go get pretty?"

"You're always pretty."

Mitch rolled his eyes.

"Ignoring your blatant disrespect, yeah. I gotta say, I'm more excited to see your big reveal of Kirstie's dress than I am of getting the lump of metal stuck on my head."

"Patience, young padawan." Mitch pushed himself out of bed and invited himself into Scott's closet to snatch a pair of pants for the short trek to Kirstie's room. "You can see it with everyone else, _later_."

They had agreed on Tuesday that Mitch and Kirstie should not be present for the actual crowning, and would instead be kept somewhere safe and quiet until the king and queen left the palace. Scott had absolutely refused to let Mitch--or Kirstie, just in case--in the same room as his parents, and would prefer that his parents still be kept under the idea that they had both left the Capital via train on Tuesday morning. The cover story Scott had told his parents at the brunch hadn't been an issue trying to uphold with the rulers being locked in their quarters all week, but now that they were expected to be in public again, Mitch and Kirstie would need to be hidden better.

"Ugh. If I don't get special privileges for being royalty, why am I even bothering with all this?"

"Because 'king' sounds better on a resume than 'prince'."

Long arms looped around Mitch as his eye caught on Scott's impressive shoe collection.

"Does that mean you'll be my queen?"

"You're so cheesy." Mitch pushed himself around and landed a short peck on Scott's mouth.

Mitch started pulling away so he could slip the stolen pants on, but didn't make it nearly far enough away from the grabby hands before he was snatched back into Scott's grip and pulled close. Who was he kidding, he wasn't remotely complaining about a make-out session with Scott, no matter how early it actually was. Although, maybe they should consider brushing their teeth first, next time. Whatever.

Hands were starting to drag down sides and up into hair—Mitch was trying to figure out why the _hell_ Scott had put his shirt back on, and more importantly, how to get it _off_ again—when a short knock on the door had them jumping apart in surprise. The door swung open, and the display of confused faces at the threshold at the two men, flushed with messy hair and standing just a little too far apart for it to look natural, along with Scott's rapidly reddening face, was enough to make Mitch laugh.

Nicole was the first one to speak.

"Are you two okay?"

Mitch grinned and winked at Esther, standing next to Avi behind Nicole and Kevin. "Excellent timing in fact. Scooter has been gushing all morning about how _excited_ he is to _review details_ , and get _all dressed up_ so he can give a fancy _speech_ —"

The grimace on Scott's face was enough to cut Mitch off with a laugh and have the little group shuffling inside and getting to work.

"See you later, Scotty." Mitch waved at the grumpy face as he sauntered over to the door. "Have fun!"

Scott glared at him as he escaped the madness of the room, acknowledging his departure by sticking his tongue out at Mitch in a mature display of regal professionalism.


	26. XXVI

Mitch, upon arriving at Kirstie's room, realized that it was far too early to be awake and Scott was clearly insane for waking him up. So he grabbed a bunch of blankets and flopped himself down on the couch, curling up in the darkness and being childishly proud of himself for managing to not wake Kirstie up.

Several hours later when it was actually physically possible for him to not go back to sleep on whatever surface was closest to him, the room had been lit and filled with the gentle murmur of two voices.

Kirstie was seated in front of a vanity in the corner with Nicole leaning over her. Mitch couldn't see the details of it as he stretched, but he assumed Nicole was doing some light makeup for the day so later, closer to the reception, Nicole could put the party makeup on top. Nicole was the only person other than Mitch and Kirstie that had been clued in (albeit vaguely) to what the dress looked like so she could plan Kirstie's hair and makeup accordingly.

There was a TV near the couch Mitch was sprawled on, and it was quietly broadcasting coverage of the ceremony. It currently showed a whole bunch of important-looking people climbing the steps outside a massive cathedral. Scott and the rest of the royal family were nowhere to be seen, so Mitch assumed he had slept through Scott's oath that must have already taken place on the steps, and it was nearly 11:00 already.

God, it was going to be a long day. He was glad he slept through the speech on the palace steps that Rick gave that morning, and the procession to the cathedral didn't exactly sound entertaining anyway. With the oath done though, it still left the actual crowning ceremony, Scott's speech from the steps of the cathedral, the parade back to the palace, (honestly, Mitch was gonna find something else to do rather than watch this all day), the closed Senate meeting where Rick would sign everything over to Scott, the late lunch around 1, (yes, because this is all going to happen _before_ lunch), then an _actual_ Senate meeting until dinner, when there would be a formal, boring dinner with a bunch of important leaders, blah blah blah, and then finally, Kirstie's big reveal at 7. Aka, the giant reception party.

Poor Scott, honestly. Mitch shuddered thinking about having to actually work and be presentable in front of the entire country all day. Let alone dealing with the rogue king and queen and hoping they didn't cause any issues.

That didn't seem like it was going to be a problem though, as the camera switched to show the people taking their seats inside the cathedral.

The king and queen stood to the left side of the fancy church-y dude—Mitch couldn't remember what the guy was called—with the rest of the royal family standing to the right. The king and queen stood stiffly, and probably uncomfortably in those outfits, with the most beefed up, absolutely jacked, more shredded than shredded cheese guard standing just behind them and to the side. He was out of the way of the ceremony, and appearing to be added protection for the monarchs as their reign came to a close, but Mitch knew better.

The guy—Kevin had called him Austin—was there to ensure they didn't try anything. "Anything", including: stalling the ceremonies, attempting to remotely assassinate Mitch or Kirstie, (because apparently it was political enough to be referred to as an _assassination_ attempt now), stop Scott from taking the throne, or basically any various style of calling for a civil war, etc.

Speaking of Kevin, he, Matt, and a whole bunch of other guards in deep red formal uniforms, stood behind the rest of the royal family and around the interior of the cathedral as the crowd was hushed and the priest (Mitch figured "priest" had to be close enough, at least) began speaking.

Kirstie's head appeared at Mitch's side as some fancy organ music started echoing through the TV, and he heard the door click behind him as he heard Nicole leave.

"Morning, queen," Kirstie waved for Mitch to scoot over and plopped herself down next to him.

Mitch hummed a "morning" back, and did a double take as he realized she was still staring at him expectantly.

"What?"

Kirstie glared at him. "Spill, please."

Mitch glanced over at the TV confusedly. "Uh, they're crowning him soon?" The glare evolved into an eye roll. "...I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Last night! Duh!" If Kirstie bounced any more, she was going to fall off the couch. "I demand to know what happened! Bestie's rights!"

That made _way_ more sense than Kirstie suddenly forgetting what was happening today.

She wants a detailed story, obviously, _buuuut_ Mitch has all afternoon and nothing to do.

"I don't know what you want to hear, Kirst. We went and got a snack from Avi and then watched a movie in his room."

Kirstie's excited face hardened immediately. Her eyes were gleaming little slits in her face as she muttered, "That _bastard_."

She must have really expected Scott to have made a move.

"Did he... say anything interesting?"

Mitch fought to push down the bubble of laughter.

"Not really. Well, I mean, everything he says is interesting, but nothing _really_ note-worthy. Why do you ask?"

Kirstie looked hesitant all of a sudden. Oh yeah, her part of the deal. Now _she_ had to attempt to tell Mitch that Scott liked him. And had, to her knowledge, refused to tell Mitch himself.

"Uh, ok. Uh..."

Mitch bit his tongue to keep himself from grinning.

"So, Mitch."

"Yeah?"

"I didn't think I was actually gonna have to say this. It's kinda been a while since we've talked about, um."

Kirstie was picking at the couch and avoiding eye contact with Mitch now.

"Okay. So."

Mitch could taste blood; he was biting his tongue so hard.

She spit it out in one big jumble of words.

"Is-there-any-chance-you-maybe-still-like-Scott-like, _like_ -like-Scott-because-he-definitely- _like_ -likes-you, and-he-was-supposed-to-tell-you-last-night-but-I-guess-he's-just-an-idiot-but—"

Mitch burst out laughing.

"What?" Kirstie demanded, her face dashed with confusion, shock, and maybe a bit of concern.

Mitch wiped a tear off his cheek and tried to speak through the laughter. " _I lied_ —I lied, I'm sorry. Oh my god, your _face_."

Kirstie whacked him in the arm with one of the couch pillows. "You bitch! He _did_ say something!"

"Yeah, yeah he did." Mitch was grinning.

Kirstie squealed, and the bouncing resumed. "What did he say? How did it go? Did he say it in the kitchen or during the movie? Did—"

"Kirstie, breathe." Mitch grabbed her hands and she stopped bouncing and took a breath, nodding for him to continue.

"We didn't actually do any of that. He took me up to the top of the tower thing, you know the big one behind the Senate, and he showed me the moon and the stars. I almost cried, it was so pretty. But then, he told me about his tattoo. It was... really sweet and poetic, honestly. How we have the sun, moon, and stars as tattoos now? Freaking... _Scott_ , man. But then he made me sit down with him and he told me that he's in love with me—"

Kirstie cut him off with another squeal, and this time, Mitch was the one bouncing with excitement.

"I _know_ —and then he _kissed_ me and Kirstie. I cannot. _Deal_. With. Him."

"Was he good? Was it good? _Tell me_ he's a good kisser or I swear I will _cry_ for you."

Mitch nodded vigorously.

"He is, 100% is, I _promise_. So, we were kissing on the tower and then it started _raining_."

Kirstie gasped and her hands flew up to her face. "Oh no... _Scott_..."

Mitch laughed. "Yeah, he told me that he only planned it at lunch yesterday, and he must not have thought to check the weather, I guess."

Kirstie seemed relieved at his lack of concern about the rain. "I suppose he's been a _little_ busy the last few days."

Mitch snorted. "Yeah, just a little."

"So then I assume you came back inside?"

"Well, yes, but we made out a little more first because: _Scott dripping wet_. I think that speaks for itself."

Kirstie rolled her eyes.

"We went back to Scott's room and we dried off a bit and then we cuddled in his bed and went to sleep. And I know this doesn't sound like new information, but Scott is a _very_ good cuddler. Like, if you ever get the chance, go for it."

Kirstie narrowed her eyes at him. "You went to sleep?"

Mitch raised an eyebrow at her. "Uh, yeah. You know, because it was Scott's bedtime if he was planning to be awake all day today."

"You made out with him while you were both _dripping wet_ and then you _cuddled_ and went to _sleep?_ "

Mitch huffed. "I would tell you if something else happened, you _know_ that. Because we tell each other _everything_ , right Kirstie?"

Kirstie was avoiding eye contact again.

"Like, for example, if my _bestest_ friend in the _entire_ world had a _boyfriend_?"

Kirstie whacked him with a pillow again.

"Owieeee—"

"Scott and I thought it was funny how you didn't notice, and we were trying to see how long it would take you to figure it out. It was getting kind of sad though. How did you not figure it out when I kicked you out everytime Ben was watching the door?"

It suddenly clicked in Mitch's brain.

" _Oh my god_ were you fu—"

Kirstie pointed to the TV suddenly and cut him off. "Look, Scott's got the crown on now!"

Mitch would admit that her distraction technique was very good, but he still saw her cheeks reddening out of the corner of his eye. But he was more focused on the screen now, because woah.

Scott was in formal Asdrian uniform. It was a little disconcerting after becoming so used to seeing him lounging around in sweatpants and at most a casual suit around the palace. But now he was in formal dress, wearing a suit that mimicked the formal dress of the guards, but in black instead of dark red. There was a bright red sash crossing the jacket, and a matching stripe down the side of each leg. The suit was highlighted with golden cuffs decorations and embellishments, and the little golden medals hanging on his lapel stood out against the dark ensemble.

Needless to say, he looked _reeeeeeeal_ good.

But the most important piece, (at least to the media because Mitch would argue that it was the blue eyes), was the golden crown sitting on the top of Scott's wavy blond hair.

They must have talked through the ceremony, then. Mitch could see the crowd start to mingle as the royal family stepped closer together and cameras started flashing.

The guards retreated to the background, and Mitch could also see how several of them were focused very intently on the king and queen. One of the women guards turned and walked towards another woman standing near some of the photographers, and Mitch realized that it was Esther standing stiffly and glaring as the cameramen called and pointed.

He pointed Esther out to Kirstie, who found it funny how irritated Esther looked at the " _nerve_ of those cameramen to _dare_ speak to the royal family without her approval first!"

They watched for a few minutes as Esther directed the media as best as possible, and watched as the train of people began to filter back outside.

"They must be getting ready for Scott's speech now," Kirstie said.

Mitch glanced at the clock on the TV. Scott's speech was scheduled for 11:45, so if he and Kirstie went down to the kitchen to get lunch now, they would probably have enough time to get back to Kirstie's room before the family and media paraded back to the palace around 12:15. (Thanks for drilling the schedule into his head, Esther.)

The king and queen were scheduled to be escorted out of the palace and away on a private train to a distant mansion after Rick signed everything over to Scott in the first Senate meeting, so they only had to hide for a little over an hour. It would be a relief once they were gone, and Mitch could see that reflected in the posture of the guards and royal staff on the TV as well.

Mitch slipped some jeans on, but kept Scott's t-shirt on, because _duh_ , and the two snuck down to the kitchens to find Avi for lunch.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur. Except that it wasn't a blur. It was more of a long, drawn out smudge that didn't quite result in anything. Mitch was pretty sure he spent two hours laying on the couch, just flipping through channels and waiting for the endless Senate meetings to end. The only event that really stood out to him was when Esther stuck her head in the room to confirm that the king and queen had departed on their train without any issues.

Mitch and Kirstie had both let out a sigh of relief at the news, but other than that, had basically just gone back to flipping through channels.

They ended up trying to convince Ryan to sneak out and get them McDonalds, but were half disappointed and half in tears laughing when he returned with actual, real chicken, cooked in the kitchen, rather than chicken nuggets made out of... mystery "chicken".

Mitch had survived the afternoon of boredom, and had succeeded in not falling asleep as Kirstie did his makeup and hair for the reception. He also managed to stand around and give enthusiastic commentary and participate in interesting conversations while Nicole returned to do Kirstie's hair and makeup.

But now it was _showtime_.

Ben had shown up while Nicole was pinning the last of Kirstie's hair in place, for "moral support", but then Avi stuck his head in the door with the same excuse.

"No way, mister! You aren't even _pretending_ to be useful here. You can see the dress with everyone else!" Mitch shooed a booing Avi back out the door.

Ben got to stay at Kirstie's request, and Nicole cemented her feet to the floor, because she "needed to make sure the hair and makeup were still complimentary."

Mitch ushered Kirstie over to the bathroom, where the dress was hanging out of the view of the onlookers, and started to pull the door shut behind them when an exclamation came from Ben.

"Wait, _what?_ "

Mitch stuck his head back out of the door and teased, "I _pinky promise_ that I am very gay, Benny-boo, and my assistance is necessary if Kirstie wants to get in this dress without ripping it. No goods will be touched, that's still _your_ job!"

Mitch pulled the door shut behind him and turned to see Kirstie's wide eyes staring at him, and cringed. That probably wasn't the best thing to say in front of two upper-city citizens, but considering the laughter echoing from outside the bathroom, it didn't seem to be an issue. He let himself shrug (not) apologetically and accepted Kirstie's eye roll and snarky comment about a lack of self preservation, and got to work.

Kirstie was already wearing a bathrobe with the Mitch-approved undergarments underneath to most comfortably fit with the dress for a night of socializing, so it was mostly a matter of helping her into the dress. A little zipper on the side, hidden at the seam running up from the base of the torso to the armpit nearly fought back as Mitch tugged it up, but it relented.

Serves it right for trying to fight its creator.

A little clip at the top of the zipper would prevent any zipper malfunctions, (Mitch learned that one the hard way and had owed Kirstie big time for the incident two years ago). Mitch stepped back to help Kirstie arrange the fabric bunched up on the top of the bodice and draping over the skirt. He helped Kirstie balance as she stepped into her heels and then took a second to admire it.

Kirstie knew him too well. She gave him a few seconds to really look at his creation before pulling him in for a hug.

"You're incredibly talented, Mitchy. I'm so _proud_ to be wearing this for you."

Mitch leaned back and looked her in the eye. She looked so proud and sincere, he had to wipe his misty eyes.

"You're making me tear up. Ugh," he sniffed. "Ready to show off?"

She grinned. "Absolutely."

He pulled the door open and turned to the eager audience.

"May I present: the one. The only. Kirstin Maldonado!"

He swung the door fully open and watched gleefully as Ben and Nicole's jaws dropped.

With Kirstie's dark hair pulled up into a delicate bun, the open neckline and small, off the shoulder sleeves highlighted the smooth expanse of her neck and shoulders. The dress was a deep purple at the folded neckline that faded into a periwinkle as it flowed to the floor. The bodice was form-fitting, but the skirt was looser and gave Kirstie room to move without tripping.

Mitch's favorite part of the dress was also the most time consuming piece. The dress had a beaded tulle layer sewed on top, which he had painstakingly put together by hand. The silver beads formed the shapes of flowers and the occasional butterfly, spreading from the more condensed waistline and bodice down the skirt to the floor. Mitch had filled in the gap space by using a slightly glittery tulle that made the whole gown sparkle despite the dark coloring of the bodice.

"Give us a spin!" Nicole cheered as Kirstie twirled.

Nicole shook her head and turned to Mitch.

"I might need you to pull a 'Fairy Godmother' and magic-up a dress for me, too!"

Mitch laughed and shook his head. "Girl, there is absolutely no way I could possibly finish another dress in—", he glanced at the clock on the wall, "—half an hour. Next time there's a fancy party, remind me and I will be _on it_."

In his turn to check the time, he noticed Kirstie and Ben making Eyes at each other. He supported Kirstie making Eyes, especially with her boyfriend, who he actually liked for once. But _not_ in his masterpiece, she wasn't.

He leaned in close to her ear and whispered, "This dress must be properly hung up and removed _entirely_ from the room in question before any sweaty-times can occur or I will _never_ forgive you."

He snickered and dodged the attempted smack she aimed at him as he jumped away to get his own outfit on.

His suit was less exciting than Kirstie's dress due to his preference of not being judged critically all night by a bunch of snobby upper-city people with a more traditional concept of gender than him.

His high-waisted pants and jacket were a tan plaid with red and dark blue highlights, which matched well with the red lipstick and blue tinted eyeliner Kirstie had put him in. He wore a plain white button down underneath and black platform boots that would put him on a better eye level with the skyscrapers of professional men and women rocking killer heels all night.

He was trying to decide between unbuttoning the white shirt or if leaving it hanging open was too much, when the rest of the group decided that they knew better than him.

Kirstie, taking advantage of Nicole handing him small gold hoop earrings, reached forward to unbutton the shirt.

"Leave it open."

Mitch turned to her as he put the hoops in. "Bossy."

Nicole apparently agreed with Kirstie. "You should... unbutton two."

Mitch leveled the smug girls with a glare as he undid the top two buttons. "There. Are you satisfied now?"

"No."

Kirstie was giggling profusely into her hand.

"One more."

"I have tattoos on my chest, Kirstie! I don't want to be the weird kid in the corner that everyone avoids," he hissed.

To his utter surprise, Ben was the one who piped up next. "Sorry, but there's going to be a lot of people staring at you anyway. You're kind of—eye catching?"

"Stunning."

"Hot as fu—" Kirstie was cut off by giggles at the look on Ben's face and Mitch's glare.

Mitch grumbled and turned away to face the vanity mirror as he undid one more button.

"You guys are all bullies. If _Scott_ was here, he would agree with me."

The wolf-whistling coming from his nemesis, _ahem_ , best friend behind him turned into snickering.

"Now what?" He whipped around to see all three of them cackling.

"Sorry honey, but there is _no_ way Scott would side with you on this one," Nicole hid her smirk by turning to clean up the last of her cascading assortment of makeup bottles littering the counter.

"Scott would argue for another button," Ben nodded.

"Speaking of which—"

"No more buttons!" Mitch batted away the hands reaching for his shirt.

Ugh, this was gonna be a long night. 


	27. XXVII

There were less old men than he was expecting. Honestly, he didn't know why he thought that a late night party would be full of senators. Of course there were a bunch, but it seemed like the majority of the party guests were around his age—just rich upper-city kids whose parents were probably senators or diplomats or advisors or something. He was a little surprised to see that there were a few other lower-city attendees, but they were mostly older than him and Kirstie.

The staff had apparently been invited to join the festivities, but not many had taken interest in partying with rich kids rather than working or getting the night off instead. Much to Mitch's relief, Avi had opted to join Mitch in his awkward hovering around the edges of the room instead of sitting in the kitchen all night.

When Avi saw Kirstie's dress, Mitch had the delight of watching his jaw drop. Avi had immediately spun around to shake Mitch's hand and gush to anyone walking past the wonders of Mitch's fashion capabilities—much to the amusement of Kirstie and Ben, and the embarrassed pride of Mitch. They had mingled for a while early on, but migrated to circling the edge of the room once Kirstie and Ben had moved to the dance floor. Avi, having worked at the palace for several years, was able to quietly point out people and entertain Mitch with some rather juicy gossip as they slowly wandered the ballroom. 

Speaking of the ballroom, woah. And Mitch had thought the dining hall was big.

It reminded him of the ballroom from that old movie, Beauty and the Beast. The ceiling was a high dome with a massive golden chandelier hanging from the center. Marble pillars were spaced evenly around the perimeter of the room, leaving the open floor for mingling and dancing to the mix of upper-city music. Tall windows lined the outside edge of the round room from floor to ceiling, letting the distant city lights twinkle like stars against the glimmering gold and reflective marble inside the room.

Kirstie and Ben, quite the opposites of Mitch and Avi, had been talking and dancing in the middle of the room. Being social, making friends, etc. That wasn't Mitch's forte, and he was content to see his best friend having a great time. Besides, he and Avi were having a great time drinking champagne and (subtly) ogling all the high class celebrity kids and important people.

As the sky outside grew darker and the music slowly started shifting to more pop and upbeat dance tracks, the older guests had begun to congregate on the balcony and wander off into other rooms rather than join the crowd of teens and younger adults on the slowly forming dance floor.

Mitch had seen glimpses of Scott all around the room. Every time he popped up somewhere, Avi would tease Mitch for staring too hard and poke his side as he encouraged him to go over to Scott. Scott seemed to be pretty busy though, talking to all the fancy people and greeting the guests. Even the ever-optimistic Avi had to agree that Scott's duties as the host were unavoidable for a while, at least.

It didn't stop Mitch from admiring the cut of Scott's suit though. He had changed at some point between the Senate meetings and the party from his formal attire with all the medals and whatnot to a simpler, dark grey suit that looks way more comfortable. Scott had also exchanged the heavy, jeweled crown from the ceremony for a lighter gold crown.

Mitch kind of wanted to pull it off Scott's head and run his fingers through the perfect blonde waves underneath it. But _that_ could be dealt with later.

"Later" ended up being a few hours into the party, when the lights were dimmed and the music was definitely hyping up the younger audience.

Mitch was leaning against the wall behind a pillar, waiting for Avi as he went to get them new drinks, when a hand slid into his.

He jumped and pulled his hand away, spinning at the sudden touch. " _What the hell_ —Scott. I swear to God, someday you're gonna try to pull this shit and I am going to smack you across the face on accident."

Scott, the clingy little bastard, seemed unconcerned and chased after Mitch's hand and grabbed it again. "Come on, I want to escape for a while."

Mitch let himself be dragged out a side door and away from the ballroom.

"Okay, I'll be honest," Scott looked down at Mitch. "I cried when I saw Kirstie's dress. I'm _so_ glad that I was only talking to Lindsey when I saw it, but seriously. It's _incredible_. She thought I was going insane when I started sniffling out of nowhere, but _damn Mitch_. I don't even have words for how—in _awe_ I am with you. I swear I'm going to die in peace one day after you make something so amazing that my heart literally just gives up."

Mitch bit his lip and glanced down, unable to hold eye contact with Scott anymore. "Thank you," he whispered. Scott always went out of his way to compliment Mitch, especially on things Scott knew he was insecure about. He just seemed to know _exactly_ what to say about the clothes he designed, his variety of hair styles, even the music he showed Scott, to boost Mitch's confidence and show how much he appreciated Mitch even in his vulnerabilities.

"No, Mitch, thank _you_. Also, thank you for letting me drag you out of there. I've been looking forward to this _all_ day."

Mitch snorted. "What, holding my hand?" He squeezed Scott's hand, which was being used to lead him down the hallways on a seemingly random path.

Scott bumped him with his shoulder. "No, dummy. I wanted to see you. But I suppose getting a break wouldn't come _too_ far in second place."

"I'd be concerned if you _didn't_ think you needed a break. I went back to bed this morning while you were stuck looking fancy for the country."

"I can appreciate a good ceremony, but oh my god. It just kept _going_ ," Scott groaned. "Did you see my speech?"

Mitch shook his head. "Kirstie and I went down to get lunch right before it started. Should I have watched it?"

Mitch could hear the grimace in Scott's voice. "Ew, no. Giving speeches is so awkward and uncomfortable, I'd rather you not watch them. Imagine how much teasing I'd have to put up with if I said a word wrong or something."

Mitch poked him in the side.

"Owieeee," he whined. "If you poke me again I'm gonna tickle you."

"I will steal _all_ of your pants so you have to walk around the palace naked."

"What's stopping you? You wouldn't complain about that."

"Well _I_ wouldn't complain, but I think Esther might have some words to say about it."

Scott grimaced. "Nope. No thank you. No tickling." He frowned down at Mitch. "What was I talking about?"

"Your speech?" Mitch prompted.

"Right, yes. So you know how I had a copy of it that I was reading from?"

"Oh, please. I know you had it memorized, Mr. Smartie-Pants."

"Whatever. So while I was talking, I was fiddling with it a little bit—don't judge me, you try talking that long in front of people and not get jittery—and I got a papercut. Right in the middle of the speech."

Mitch laughed. Scott was just too precious. He'd waited all day to talk to Mitch and when given the opportunity, immediately started discussing a papercut.

"Shut up," Scott grinned down at him. "Papercuts _hurt_. I almost forgot what I was talking about 'cause it startled me, and then I had to finish the rest of the speech yet with blood dripping all over."

Mitch released his grip on Scott's hand as they wandered into a big, empty room, and pulled the hand up to his face.

"Where's the cut?"

"Other hand."

Mitch dropped Scott's hand and stepped in front of him as they stopped walking, reaching for the offered hand. Mitch spotted the band-aid on his pointer finger and pulled it up to his face, landing a big, wet kiss right on top of it.

"There, I fixed it."

Scott was all crinkly-eyed as he looked down at Mitch.

"I think I have another papercut."

Mitch raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really? Where could it _possibly_ be?"

Scott grinned and pointed at his mouth.

Mitch shrugged. "I can't reach that high. Guess it'll have to heal the old-fashioned way."

Scott narrowed his eyes at Mitch's exaggerated sigh.

A hand shot up and grabbed at his elbow, and Mitch giggled as he was dragged across the room. Scott plopped himself down in a big chair and pulled Mitch as close as possible.

"Can you reach now?"

Mitch rolled his eyes and leaned in, meeting an eager Scott halfway.

Ooh, _idea_. Every time Mitch accidentally stabs himself with a needle, he's gonna make Scott kiss it to make it feel better and see how long it takes to escalate boo-boo kissing to making out.

Scott couldn't seem to figure out where he wanted to put his hands. They kept running up and tracing Mitch's jaw, cupping his face, down his neck, tracing across his collarbone and down his chest. Maybe Mitch should have gone for opening another button. Considering how much Scott's hands lingered on his chest, Scott would probably agree. Mitch was never gonna tell Kirstie she was right, though.

To be fair, Mitch wasn't doing much better. He kinda wanted—okay, let's be real—he really, _really_ wanted to get his hands in Scott's hair, but the stupid crown was still in the way. He settled for letting his right hand grip Scott by the tie, clinging and pulling him in even closer, and let his left hand rest on Scott's neck—half for balance and half for proximity to The Hair.

Mmm, Scott was good at this. Mitch wouldn't consider himself an _expert_ , per se, but he'd say he was _pretty_ skilled at the art of kissing. He had fairly high standards at this point, and Scott was exceeding. All. Of. Them.

He was _mastering_ a perfect combination of nibbling lightly on Mitch's lip, licking over it to sooth the sting, holding Mitch right where he wants him, and absolutely _stealing_ the breath from Mitch's lungs. Mitch already knew he was absolutely gone on him, but _still_.

Mitch wanted The Hair. He grabbed the crown off Scott's head with both hands, causing Scott to break the kiss to chuckle. He paused for a second, realizing that he hadn't thought ahead to what he was going to do with the crown once he got it off. He didn't want to dump it on the ground, because this thing might _actually_ cost more than his entire apartment building, but then what could he do?

Well, Scott wasn't really using _his_ hair at the moment, so Mitch just plopped it on his own head and leaned back in to resume the kiss and get his hands into The Hair at last.

Scott was grinning too much into the kiss now for it to really be as great as the previous one, but Mitch was having fun digging his fingers into that blond swoop, so he didn't really give a shit. Until of course, Scott couldn't hold back his laughter anymore and pulled back.

"Bully." Mitch wasn't pouting.

"Can you blame me? You're just too adorable."

Mitch rolled his eyes and pushed himself back upright, out of his weird slumped position over Scott.

"You put it on crooked," Scott's happy, crinkly eyes were back (yay!).

"I wasn't trying to make it look good, I just wanted it out of the way. Stop judging me."

"I'm not judging you," Scott reached up to straighten the crown sitting on Mitch's head. "I just wanna make it preeeetty. So you can be my little queen."

"Please. I already am your little queen."

"Nuh uh. You gotta sit on the throne first."

Mitch pulled back and looked down at the weird chair. "Ohhhh. So that's what this is."

Now that Mitch was looking around, ignoring Scott's snickering, he could see that the room was big and— _shockingly_ —featured a lot of marble. There was dim lighting, since they had wandered so far away from the party and into the quieter rooms of the palace, but there were several giant chandeliers that still sparkled gently overhead. There was a dramatic carpet that led from the main doors up the center aisle of the room, up to the raised dais of thrones. Mitch assumed that Scott had chosen his own throne to make out on, but was slightly confused when he noticed that this throne was set back with two others—probably for Scott's sisters—rather than being the center throne.

Scott seemed to notice his brief confusion, and answered, "They're gonna rearrange the thrones this weekend, I think. Put Mom and Dad's thrones back opposite Lindsey and Lauren's, and pull mine up to the middle."

"Who do I have to pay to get them to replace your throne with one of those baby feeding chairs?"

Scott got up and pushed Mitch around until he was the one seated.

"Probably Esther. You should actually ask about it. That would be really funny." Scott leaned in closer, getting his hands on Mitch's chest again. "And you should wear more open shirts."

"Why, so you can tick—No! _No!_ " Mitch shrieked as the onslaught began.

 _Damn_ those wiggly little fingers and Mitch's sensitive skin. Mitch's limbs flailed out from where Scott had him pinned as he gasped for air. He managed to land a solid smack against Scott's arm, which on one hand, got him to stop tickling Mitch, but on the other, also got him to retreat.

"Nooooo," Mitch whined and made grabby hands. "Come back. But no more tickling."

Scott smirked down at him. "And I thought _I_ was the bossy one."

Mitch tried to pull his face back down to his own. "That's just your 'leader type personality'."

Scott poked Mitch in the side before leaning in to seal their lips together again. Mitch grabbed Scott's hair again with both hands and yesss. This was _excellent_. It was so soft, even after such a long day. Mitch could faintly smell Scott's shampoo, and some other scent that he assumed was whatever hair gel Nicole had glopped in there this morning. He was revelling in the feeling of their lips sliding together while also having a great time messing up the perfect wave, until—

"Oh, _shit_."

Scott jerked back at the low voice, and they both swung their heads towards the door.

Matt and Avi stood in the doorway together, looking severely uncomfortable.

"Matt, _dearest_ ," Mitch tried to break the silence as he pushed himself back into a better sitting position, "Someday, if you keep walking into rooms at every loud noise, you're gonna see something you _really_ don't want to see."

Matt grimaced and glanced back at the frozen Scott.

Avi's deep rumble echoed in the big room as he spoke again. "Sorry. I talked Matt into coming with me to find you after you disappeared in the 20 seconds it took me to find new drinks."

He still looked uncomfortable and apologetic, but Mitch could see Avi trying to hold back from continuing.

"Okay, what is it? Before your head explodes."

Mitch was not expecting the immediate question, "Who made the first move? Sorry, but it's _important_."

Mitch glanced over at Scott, still standing far too still with a rapidly reddening face.

"...Scott did, why?"

"Dang it," Matt groaned as Avi cheered.

"There are... _quite_ a few bets on whether you or Scott would be the one to crack first. And also where, when--because apparently quite a few people think you've been dating for months—"

"Who knows?" Scott seemed to be incapable of looking Matt in the eye, and that's when Mitch remembered that they were in the _upper-city_ and... quite possibly in a bit of a pickle, for lack of a better term.

Avi seemed to realize what Mitch was thinking at the same time. "Nobody said anything to anyone, I promise. Esther and I have kept our mouths shut, and Matt and Kevin have too." Matt nodded along vigorously. "A large part, well, probably a majority of the palace, at this point, just... Came to their own conclusions?"

Mitch reached forward and grabbed Scott's hand. It seemed to help a little bit, because Scott glanced over at him and took a deep breath.

"Can I ask what prompted the bets?"

Matt answered. "You met Mitch nine months ago, and have talked about him so much that everyone here has been more anxious to meet him than when any of the royal pregnancies were announced."

Scott let out a nervous chuckle. "So I outed myself to the entire palace because I talked about Mitch too much? Honestly didn't see that one coming."

"It probably didn't help that once I _did_ show up, I was obviously a sassy little twink and completely obsessed with you."

Mitch felt some of the weight lift off his chest when Scott laughed, even if it was less of a World Famous Scott Laugh and more of a Nervous and Somewhat Relieved Chuckle.

"Nobody's said... anything about you. At least not publicly," Avi reassured Scott. Mitch was reminded of how Scott had commented on Avi being able to hear a lot from the palace staff in the kitchens. If someone had been talking shit about Scott's preferences, Avi would have heard about it (and probably set Esther or Kevin on them).

Hearing that people had been respectful, if not a little creepy with all the betting, was a relief, and Mitch could tell that Scott thought so too from the way his shoulders relaxed and his expression shifted to something less jumpy and startled.

"Okay," Scott sighed. "Okay. It's... fine. This is fine."

Avi tugged Matt backwards and they both slipped their way back out the door with a, "Sorry again, toodles," that had Scott's shoulders relaxing a bit more.

Mitch pushed himself back up to his feet and replaced the crown on Scott's head as Scott looked down at him carefully.

"Are you okay?" Mitch asked quietly.

Scott shrugged. "It could have been worse. And it was bound to have happened at some point. I'm just glad that it was Matt and Avi instead of, like, some middle school girls who managed to ditch a tour group."

Mitch laughed as he tried to fix Scott's hair underneath the crown and straighten his tie.

"I'm also... kinda relieved that everyone already knows? It puts less pressure on me to make statements or, I don't know, if we get spotted together. If that much of the staff already knows, then I can guarantee that it won't be long until it starts circulating outside the palace, if it hasn't already, regardless of what Esther does to try to protect my reputation, or whatever."

"Are you gonna do anything about it?" Mitch was a little worried about what this would mean for the two of them. He had been fine with it being a quiet kind of thing, but hadn't really thought much past Scott getting crowned and his parents leaving the Capital.

Scott considered it for a second, looking down at Mitch unabashedly, before answering.

"Nah. I'll tell Esther to leave the rumors alone, and we can just roll with it. Unless you'd prefer something different?"

Mitch shook his head. "I'm fine with anything, as long as you're comfortable with it. I just don't want to end up being an issue..." He dropped his eyes, unable to face Scott's openly gooey eyes for him while continuing. "If us being an us becomes a problem, we can—" he paused to swallow the lump in his throat, "—we can always go back to being friends. I can—if you'd prefer—"

"Mitch."

He raised his eyes back to Scott's, who looked like he was in as much pain as Mitch was over the idea.

"Do you want to go back to being just friends?"

Mitch shook his head hesitantly. Absolutely not. Literally not a single cell in him wanted to do that, but he didn't want to lie to Scott, even if it ended up swaying his opinion or—

"Great. Me neither."

 _Oh thank God_.

Mitch breathed a sigh of relief and leaned forward, wrapping his arms around Scott and feeling Scott do the same as he tucked his head under the scruffy chin.

"I'm not saying that we should go make out on the palace steps or anything," Mitch chuckled and burrowed in tighter against Scott as he spoke, feeling the rumble of Scott's voice in his chest, "but I don't particularly want to hide who I am anymore. Being able to be out, even when it was just you, me, and Kirstie sitting in her living room and watching old movies—I want that. We can test the waters in the palace a bit with us being together, and then if it goes well, maybe I'll throw a big, official coming out party and invite all the old, conservative senators. And if it _doesn't_ go well, screw them."

Mitch was honestly surprised at that. He pulled back—not too far, just enough to see Scott's face—and watched in surprised admiration as Scott grinned down at him.

"I'll just pass a whole bunch of pro-LGBTQ+ bills and crack down on getting the upper-city to chill out about it."

Mitch was gonna cry. Scott was willing to do all of this for him, for them, a relationship that was literally less than a day old.

He almost sniffled a bit. "You're so sappy, I swear. Does this mean I can officially call you my boyfriend, then?"

Scott's grin widened. "Absolutely. I think we've basically been dating for months, Mitchy. We just left out the kissing part till yesterday."

Mitch's smile widened into a matching grin. "There's this one other part we've been skipping..."

Scott rolled his eyes and gently shoved a giggling Mitch back. "Remind me later. Don't you _dare_ start anything while we still have to go back to a party."

Mitch fake-whined as they started back towards the door. "But baaaaaby—"

Scott paused and landed a short peck on Mitch's nose. "Deal with it, honey."

Mitch linked hands with Scott as they resumed their walk back towards the distant thumping music, pretending to grumble about Scott holding out of him as Scott laughed and swung their arms.


	28. XXVIII

Mitch was leaning against one of the marble pillars with a drink in his hand, sipping occasionally and watching the sea of people dance. The party had very quickly evolved to a club-like atmosphere while he and Scott had been gone, with multicolored lights flashing around the now dark room while bass-boosted dance tracks blasted from a DJ booth.

Mitch was alone now, with Scott having run off to continue being a "pleasant host", as he'd called it, and Avi having checked in with him but wandered off quickly after. Mitch wasn't surprised; Avi had blushed pretty hard upon meeting Mitch's eyes, and Mitch didn't blame him for trying to give space to the dude he had just walked in on making out with his closeted boyfriend.

He was having a good time surveying the crowd and listening to the music. He may not have gone into music, but he could still appreciate the production. He could see Kirstie mixed in the mob of people, Ben probably nearby somewhere, bopping and swinging her arms around to the beat.

He waved a little when she spun around and spotted him from across the room, and he could see her eyes sweep over him and narrow, before her head disappeared from view. He went back to sipping at his—what was this?—alcoholic beverage that was awesome.

"You ditched the party to make out with Scott?"

Mitch jumped when a bundle of energy popped up at his shoulder. "Holy _shit_ , Kirstie," he clutched at his chest, before her words registered. "Wait, how the hell do you know that?"

Avi and Matt wouldn't have snitched, and even if they had, Kirstie had been on the dance floor—

"You have four buttons open. We only convinced you to open three earlier."

Mitch's jaw dropped and he stared down at his shirt. "Oh my god. _When_ did he do that?"

Kirstie laughed. "Can I tell Nicole she owes me $5? We bet that Scott would figure out a way to get it opened more."

" _You too?_ "

Kirstie just laughed more. "I guarantee that no one has any complaints about it being open." She mimed her head exploding. "You'll never guess who I talked to before."

Mitch raised an eyebrow. "Spill, girl."

"Candice Lambert loves the dress."

Mitch flung his drink-less arm out to grab Kirstie and nearly sprayed her with his drink. "You're lying. That's not funny. _Candice Lambert?_ "

Kirstie beamed and nodded. "I told her you designed it and made it, along with your suit, and she said to pass on her compliments if she didn't see you yet tonight."

"She's _here?_ And she likes _my_ dress? Candice. _Freaking_. Lambert." Mitch was nearly bouncing on his toes and squealing.

"You _have_ to try to get Scott to introduce you. It's already starting to get late, and I don't know if she's somewhere else or if she left already."

Mitch's head shot up and immediately began scanning the room for Scott. His eyes locked onto his boyfriend ( _boyfriend!_ ) near the bar and started over towards him to the sound of Kirstie cheering him on. 


	29. XXIX

"Mitch, come hang your suit up. Or like, move."

"Can't."

Mitch felt the bed dip next to him, where he lay sprawled with his face buried in the comforter.

"Mitchyyy. You're gonna get wrinkles in it. And probably makeup on my bed."

Mitch huffed and rolled over so he was staring at the ceiling.

"I'm going to work for _Candice Lambert_." He saw Scott smile down at him and felt fingers start toying with his hair. "You don't understand. I can't do anything. I'm going to lay here until I die."

"But Mitchy, if you die, then you won't get to work with her. And then I'd be lonely and _very_ sad."

Mitch groaned and rolled so his face was squished into Scott's leg from where he sat.

"I hate your logic."

Scott patted his head. "Alright, come on."

Mitch forced himself off the bed and over to the closet. He could see Scott's suit already hanging up, and he put his next to it. His eyes landed on Scott's t-shirts, and he gleefully snatched one and pulled it over his bare chest. He contemplated grabbing some sweatpants too, but hey. He didn't really expect Scott to complain about him lounging around in just underwear.

He wandered over into the bathroom and leaned over the counter, peering into the mirror as he started wiping the makeup off his face. Scott slid in behind him after a minute and leaned against the door as he watched.

Mitch paused in wiping his eyeliner off as he looked Scott up and down. "Please, never put a shirt on." Mitch wouldn't complain if the sweatpants disappeared, too.

Scott snorted and stepped forward. He wrapped his arms around Mitch's chest and set his head on Mitch's shoulder to watch as Mitch continued.

"I can't see your chest anymore," Mitch bumped Scott with his elbow.

"You're wiping makeup off your eyes. If you try to stare at me, you're just gonna poke them out."

"In _theory_ , but we wouldn't know for sure unless you let me _try_." Mitch teased Scott, getting a kiss on his shoulder in response. He finished cleaning off his face in a peaceful silence, Scott still watching him gently from his shoulder.

Mitch tossed the makeup wipe into the trash and turned around in Scott's hold. "Hi." Mitch hung his arms around Scott's neck.

"Hi." Scott planted a soft kiss on his lips. "Your face is pretty."

Mitch laughed and pulled back. "You're such a dork." He slid past Scott and out of the bathroom, heading for the bed.

"Yeah, but I'm _your_ dork, boyfriend." The bathroom light flicked off and he heard Scott's footsteps follow him over.

Mitch propped himself up on his elbows so he could see Scott better as he sat down next to him. "I like the sound of that. Like, a lot."

"Me too. We're so stupid. We could've been doing this for months, and instead we spent the whole time pining. How did Kirstie not get sick of us? Or tell one of us that we were being stupid?"

Mitch rolled his eyes. "She _did_ tell me that we're being stupid, repeatedly. I just didn't want to get my hopes up."

"Get... _what_ up?" Scott broke into giggles at Mitch's exasperated glare.

"You're _so_ annoying."

"Yeah, yeah. You love me."

Mitch grinned. "Hell yeah I do."

Scott sighed contentedly and laid back. "It's been a good day."

"You wanna make it even better?" Mitch smirked down at him and wiggled his eyebrows.

There was a pause as Scott lifted his head and stared at Mitch for a second, before a grin broke out on his face. He rolled on top of Mitch, pinning him to the mattress. "Do you?"

Suddenly breathless, Mitch nodded excitedly as he stared up into the smirk and piercing blue eyes that held him down as much as Scott's weight already was.

Scott leaned down and pressed their mouths together. The kiss ended up being more Scott trying to kiss Mitch and Mitch squirming and distractedly attempting to reciprocate. Mitch could feel Scott's hand tugging his shirt up and fingertips roaming across his stomach and ribs.

Scott broke the kiss and moved down to mouth along Mitch's scar and tattooed neck, leaving Mitch to gasp and tangle his hands in Scott's hair once again. He shivered as he felt Scott's tongue trace down his neck, which seemed to prompt Scott immediately pushing himself up and reaching for the hem of Mitch's shirt to pull it off. He paused to glance up at Mitch, waiting for an 'ok' signal before pulling the shirt off, but Mitch had no patience and grabbed the shirt himself before flinging it over his head and across the room.

Scott laughed at his eagerness as he leaned back up, and Mitch let his hands start to creep down Scott's chest. He was thrilled at the opportunity to finally get to run his hands over the skin that kept being displayed to him tauntingly. Scott lowered himself back down and latched his mouth right on Mitch's collarbone, just above where his "collarbone" tattoo resided.

Mitch could feel Scott grin against his skin as he weakly gasped out, "If Kirstie sees me covered in hickeys tomorrow, she's never gonna let us hear the end of it."

Scott hummed and grazed his teeth down over the blooming mark. "Mmm, worth it."

Mitch's hands flew back up into Scott's hair when he felt a tongue track down from his collarbone and over his nipple. "Oh my god, _Scott_ —"

The tongue traced down again, and Mitch lifted his head just in time to see Scott glance up at him and smirk again before dragging the tip of his tongue up the front of Mitch's boxers. Mitch felt a choked sound rip out of his throat as his head thunked back against the bed. He could feel Scott pressing open mouthed kisses to him through the thin fabric, and he could hear but not quite control the breathy stream of "Scott, _Scott_ —Scott!" pouring out of his mouth as he shuddered.

" _Please_ , please Scott—"

He heard Scott groan and sit up before fingers were hooking on the waistband of his boxers and pulling. Mitch raised his hips eagerly and watched as the material got dragged down and tossed to the floor.

Mitch matched Scott's grin at the new expanse of skin open for touching, but he had to protest when Scott tried to lean back down.

"Hey, _hey_ —you too, mister!"

Scott looked about ready to argue so he could go back to putting his mouth on Mitch immediately—not like Mitch has any complaints about that—but Mitch had to insist.

"Sharing is caring."

Don't judge, it worked.

Scott snorted and leaned down to press a kiss back to his lips, but then he pulled back and yanked off his own sweatpants. Mitch's eyes bugged slightly at the lack of anything under the sweatpants, and he felt his mouth water a little. If Scott hadn't already been pushing him back down and reaching for a bedside drawer, Mitch would 100% have flipped him over and gotten his turn licking Scott all over. He still might, if Scott's lube hunt took much longer.

But then Scott was back and leaning over him, tilting his head up and meeting his lips in a searing, demanding kiss. Scott rolled his hips down into Mitch's, and Mitch moaned into it and arched his back at the sudden heat and hardness grinding down onto his own dick. Scott, the smug bastard, kept Mitch in place with a hand on his jaw, guiding the kiss, as he kept rolling his hips down until Mitch couldn't take it anymore.

"Get your dick _in me_ already."

There was a pause and Mitch whined at the lack of anything, but then a slick finger traced down the side of his cock and then it was pressing insistently against his entrance and—"Yessssss," he hissed. He tossed his head back and groaned at the feeling of Scott's finger pushing in farther, gentle but controlling.

"Jesus _Christ_ , Mitch," Scott leaned over him and captured his lips again as he worked his finger in. Mitch did his best to kiss back, breaking away to gasp for breath when a second finger was pressed in next to the first.

The tight wetness and pressure, the awareness that it was Scott, was already so much. When Scott curled his fingers right into Mitch's prostate, he jerked hard and suddenly couldn't stop his squirming.

"Oh, Scott— _oh my god please Scott_ —"

"Patience, Mitchy," Scott nipped at his chin. "Soon."

Mitch whined and jerked again as Scott evilly curled his fingers back into his sweet spot. Mitch could see Scott losing his own patience though, watching as he swallowed thickly and pulled back, glancing down to see where his fingers met Mitch's ass. He added a third finger quickly after, and finally sat back, satisfied.

"Come _on_ ," Mitch tried to rock down and encourage Scott to speed up the process of rolling on a condom and adding more lube.

" _Patience_ ," Scott batted Mitch's hand away as it tried to sneak down towards Mitch's abandoned cock, but it just made Mitch choke a little on his own desire and whine needily.

He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, and he was almost shaking with excitement and arousal and the sheer affection for the man leaning over him. He felt the head of Scott's dick press against him, and he shuddered and groaned as the pressure increased until he could feel him start to slide in slowly.

Scott paused at his groan and he felt a hand slide up into one of his. He squeezed it tight and attempted to make rational words come out of his mouth. "I'm good, you can move," Mitch wiggled at the slight burn as Scott pressed forward again carefully. "Oh, _god_."

Scott's head dropped onto Mitch's chest when he bottomed out, and Mitch dropped his own head back onto the mattress. He gave himself a few seconds to adjust to the heat and the blunt thickness of Scott inside of him before he nodded to Scott's waiting gaze.

His heart skipped a beat at the immediate devilish grin that erupted on Scott's face. Paired with the tight muscles as he waited for Mitch to give him the 'ok' and the hand still pinning his own hand to the sheets... _ugh_.

Scott suddenly drew his hips back sharply and slammed them back into Mitch's, causing a choked cry to fall from Mitch's mouth as his fingers clawed for purchase in Scott's and the sheets. He tried to glare at Scott for the laugh that bubbled up from him, but he couldn't quite manage it on top of the demanding pace that Scott quickly set.

Mitch panted and squirmed under Scott, and keened when Scott grabbed the wrist of his free hand and pinned it to the mattress, cutting off his last futile attempt at reaching for his cock.

It didn't take long before Scott was panting too, and not much longer after that until Mitch's wrist was released and his leg hiked up. The new angle tore a strangled squeak out of him that would have been embarrassing if Scott didn't just double down even harder. Mitch could feel his legs start to shake as Scott's cock jammed into his prostate, and he couldn't stop the seemingly endless moan coming from his mouth as his eyes rolled back.

Scott leaned down and pressed a filthy kiss to Mitch's mouth, bending Mitch nearly in half. He felt the tension in his gut build quickly at the relentless thrusts and frantic tempo of their movements, as Mitch's hips began to twitch up to meet Scott's. He could feel the friction on his cock trapped between their stomachs, and the heat coiled in his gut.

"Scott, I— _please_ , Scott _Scott Scott_ —"

"Are you close, Mitchy?" Scott groaned into his ear.

Mitch nodded desperately, " _Please_ , don't stop, _don't stop_ , please—"

Mitch clawed at Scott's back with his free hand as Scott traced the shell of his ear with his tongue. "Come on, Mitch. Come for me. Wanna feel you, _Mitchy_ —"

That did it. Mitch gasped harshly, pulling in a ragged breath as he felt the heat rise up and consume him. He was distantly aware of Scott crying his name, but the sweet waves of pleasure racking his body, making him both tremble and melt in Scott's arms, called for most of his attention. He could see stars on the edge of his vision, and he sucked in air greedily as he slowly felt awareness return to his body. Scott was still panting over him, eyes squeezed shut and a low moan tearing out of his throat.

Mitch could feel the slide of his own come between their chests as they gasped for air, and shuddered at the feeling of Scott gently pulling out of him. He grinned up at Scott as he leaned over and placed a kiss on Mitch's forehead before pulling back and tottering over to the bathroom.

Mitch tried to let his heartbeat return to something a bit more manageable as Scott returned with a warm washcloth and gently cleaned them up, flipping the dim lamp off as he flopped down next to Mitch.

"I love you," Mitch turned his head to meet Scott's eyes, and felt the calm, happy bubble in his chest swell as Scott landed a soft kiss on his lips.

"I love you more," Scott beamed down at him and brushed his sweaty hair out of his eyes.

"Yeah, right."

"Fight me."

Mitch poked the giant snuggly puddle next to him. "I don't know how you still have energy for that."

Scott grinned. "Well how about we _fight_ some more in the morning then?"

"You're insatiable."

"You're hot."

Mitch narrowed his eyes at the smugness on Scott's face. "You're bossy."

"Well, I am the king."

Mitch opened his mouth to sass back, but he froze.

"Oh my god."

Scott looked slightly concerned, possibly at the expression on Mitch's face. "What?"

Mitch scrambled to sit up. "Oh my god. Scott. _Oh my god_."

"Are you okay?"

"You're the _king_. Oh _my god_." His hands flew up to his gaping mouth. "I had _sex_ with the _king_."

Scott snorted and grabbed Mitch and pulled him back down next to him. "It's just me, silly."

Mitch relaxed in Scott's hold, still staring up at him with wide eyes. "You're _actually_ the _king_. Oh my—I don't know why it just hit me— _oh my god_."

Scott rolled closer to Mitch and laid his head on Mitch's chest, wrapping an arm around his waist and snuggling in. "Go to sleep, Mitchy."

"Oh my _god._ "


	30. XXX

Mitch woke to the soft sound of the bathroom door clicking shut. He stretched and sighed at the feeling of the cool sheets sliding against his warm skin. The room was filled with a gentle morning light, coming from the balcony doors, which Scott must have propped open. He could smell a light floral breeze as the curtains fluttered slightly. He closed his eyes and rested his head back on the pillow, content to just relax. He had almost drifted back to sleep when he heard the door open and Scott walk back over.

He rolled over and immediately frowned. "What is up with you putting all these clothes on? It's like every time I turn around, you've found another pair of pants."

Sure, it was only a fresh pair of sweatpants and a tank top, but _Mitch_ was still naked. It's just not fair.

Scott leaned on the side of the bed and Mitch felt his heart flutter at the unfiltered affection in Scott's gaze.

"Sorry. I kinda figured that I should put clothes on to leave the room. I went and asked Lauren if she could cover my work today, 'cause I want to hang out with you and lounge around all morning."

"I thought you had the day off?" Mitch raised an eyebrow.

The corner of Scott's mouth twitched up. "My days off and your days off are a little different. But I pinky promise, I've got all day off Mitch-style now."

"You didn't have to do that, Scott." Scott's job was ridiculously important, and Mitch was very aware of how dedicated Scott was to doing the best job he could, all the time. Handing over his work for an _entire_ _day_ must have been a challenge for him, and Mitch didn't want to be an obstacle in Scott's productivity.

"Yeah, but I wanted to." The serious look on Scott's face made it clear that he knew exactly what Mitch was worried about. "I really _do_ need a day off after yesterday, and there's not much for Lauren to do anyway. Besides, you're literally naked and in my bed. Why would I _ever_ try to pass that up?" Scott laughed and dodged the smack Mitch aimed for him. "Does that mean you wanna _fight_ some more?"

Mitch glared at Scott, batting his eyes and puckering his lips in an exaggerated attempt to get Mitch to agree. "Nah." Mitch snuggled into the blankets. "I'm too comfy to move."

Scott narrowed his eyes and shrugged. "Fine. I guess I'll just go shower... all alone..."

Mitch watched as Scott sauntered back over to the bathroom, shedding his shirt on the way and leaving Mitch drooling at the ripple of muscle in those shoulders. The pants were kicked off inside the bathroom, and the door was almost immediately swung almost all the way shut, preventing Mitch from being able to watch anymore.

Mitch tried to wait as long as he could, but he could hear the shower and he _really_ wouldn't mind seeing a wet Scott again. He growled at himself as he felt his limbs betray his stubbornness and start to twitch towards the side of the bed. _Fine_.

Mitch slid into the shower behind Scott and opened his mouth to defend his pretend-reluctant appearance, but didn't get farther than parting his lips before he was pushed up against the shower wall and a mouth was covering his.

He grabbed at Scott's arms to keep himself balanced at the quick motion, but clung on once he was settled against the wall. He let out a whine of protest when his grip was loosened by Scott pulling back. Scott had a gleam in his eye that had Mitch swallowing thickly.

Before he could say anything, Scott was dropping to his knees and grabbing at Mitch's hips, effectively bringing his already compromised mental capacity (see: a dripping wet and naked Scott) to a complete stop.

"Is this okay?"

Mitch almost had to fight his tongue to get it to move and not just hang out of his mouth, drooling all over the image under him. "Yes. Yes, yes, yes—"

Scott smirked and leaned in to trace his tongue up Mitch's hipbone.

"I consider an important part of my boyfriend duties to be appreciating your hip bones as often as possible. I cannot emphasize enough how much I _love_ these things."

Brain no worky. Try again later.

Mitch couldn't quite make words form. He could sort of hear little breathy gasps and curses falling from his mouth, but he wasn't focused on that at all.

Scott was deliberately being a tease. Nibbling his way up and down the jut of his hips, pausing to suck a hickey into the curve of his right hip. That was gonna be a gorgeous and memorable bruise, later. Then he'd switch to running his tongue back over the sore skin, before suddenly scraping his beard across the sensitive spots, making Mitch shudder and vaguely worry about his knees giving out.

Not to mention, he kept bumping into Mitch's dick. Every time his jaw would brush it, Mitch would half flinch from the scrape of his beard, half lean into the evil contact that Scott seemed uninterested in pursuing. It's not like Scott wasn't noticing it—there was no way, considering how it had so quickly bobbed right up into Scott's eye line—he was just ignoring it to purposefully make Mitch whine.

Mitch knew he was joking before when he called Scott a "leader type personality", but boy, was he right.

He was dragged down from the heady, tingly, floating feeling abruptly when Scott, without any warning, got his lips around his cock and went _all_ _the way down_. He heard rather than felt his high-pitched squeal ring out and echo in the bathroom.

His heart was pounding in his chest and his blood was rushing in his ears. The only thing that kept his shaky knees from giving out on him now was the grip Scott had on his sensitive hips, pressing him into the wall and preventing him from pushing forward into Scott's mouth.

Scott wasn't teasing anymore now that there was actually a dick involved. Mitch couldn't focus on anything but the hot, wet feeling of Scott around him at last. He bobbed his head, adding a hand at the base and sucking just enough to make Mitch's hips twitch in Scott's firm hold. When Scott pulled back to run his tongue around the head of Mitch's dick, Mitch's babbling began.

" _Oh_ , shit, Scott you're too good at— _Scott_ —" Mitch gasped.

Scott glanced up into Mitch's eyes, wiggled his eyebrows, and hummed back at him around his cock. Mitch choked on his breath and the vibration and his head dropped back against the wall. He couldn't let it rest there though, not with Scott looking like that and running his tongue over his slit, and he lifted it again quickly. Shit, this was gonna be over fast.

He relayed this to Scott and was met with more humming on the downward pushes and friction with the dragging tongue swipes at the top. Scott grabbed his hands, currently clenched in fists at his sides against the shower wall, and pulled them up to tangle in his hair.

Apparently his _slight_ fixation on Scott's hair hadn't gone unnoticed. The gentle grip that Mitch got allowed him the slightest leverage to rock gently with Scott each time he took him in.

He felt Scott's thumbs rub gently on his hips, and the sweetness of the small gesture made his breath stutter along with his slight thrusts as the tension in his balls grew quickly.

"I'm gonna co— _Scott_ —I'm _so_ close," he panted.

Scott didn't pause at his warning. If anything, he sped up. Mitch's grip in Scott's hair tightened as he felt himself approach the top of the desperate climb. He could feel his legs trembling and his toes curling at the heat in his gut, Scott's mouth, and the shower water splashing down off of Scott below him.

The feeling of Scott swallowing around him while a finger suddenly skimmed over his hole had him gasping as he felt the tension uncoil at last. His body convulsed and shuddered at the onslaught of warm pleasure rushing through him and his knees buckled. He felt Scott catch his hips and pull back quickly, preventing Mitch from falling on top of him and instead, helped guide him to the floor as his heart pounded and eyes rolled.

When he could finally draw a deep breath and focus his eyes again, Mitch could see Scott leaning over him and feel him pressing kisses to his jaw as his arm twitched in a familiar motion.

Mitch turned his head so his mouth could meet Scott's, and felt a possessive tug in his chest at the taste of himself on Scott's tongue. He reached down to replace Scott's hand on his cock with his own and resume the pace of Scott's quick jerks.

"You were so _good_ to me, Scotty—you made me come so hard for you—"

" _Mitchy_ —"

"Come on, Scotty, please? My turn to make you feel good. Come for me—"

It didn't take more than a swipe of his thumb over the head to have Scott's head thunking down onto his shoulder as he spilled, trembling and moaning, into Mitch's fist.

They sat under the spray of water and caught their breath together, letting the steady stream run over them and rinse away the sweat and come as they slowed their frantic hearts.

Scott's hand reached out to trace along Mitch's right hip as they leaned on each other. Mitch's hipbone was covered in an elaborate, colorful tattoo depicting a mountain scene. The jut of his hip bone was turned into the mountain ridge, which descended into a luscious forest at the top of his thigh. Rich, cerulean blues and sharp reds and oranges were woven into the mountain's snowy banks. Towering evergreen trees were layered in deep, mossy greens, and tall yellow grasses waved in a nonexistent breeze.

"Have I mentioned how much I love you?" Scott murmured.

"A few times," Mitch pulled Scott's hand off his hip to give it a kiss.

"Ok, good."

Mitch huffed and poked Scott in the ribs. "Scoooooooott—"

"Alright, alright!" Scott laughed and tried to dodge his finger. "I love you!"

Mitch pulled himself up to his feet happily. "Love you too, Scooter."

"Mitchyyyy—" Scott made grabby hands from where he sat on the floor of the shower as Mitch stepped around him to grab for the shampoo.

"No, _you_ come up _here_. We actually have to shower, too."

Scott groaned and took Mitch's offered hand to drag himself up. "Then I get to wash your hair."

Mitch passed the shampoo bottle over, suddenly glad that the palace wasn't like his apartment with showers that ran cold after like, three minutes. Scott pulled him in close and tangled his fingers in Mitch's hair while Mitch lazily draped his arms around Scott and leaned into him.

"If you fall asleep and drool on me, I'm gonna shave your eyebrows off."

Mitch hummed in acknowledgement and rested his forehead on Scott's shoulder to close his eyes.

"How am I supposed to threaten you if you aren't gonna listen?" Scott's voice sounded so calm and at ease it made Mitch smile to himself.

"Guess you're just gonna have to try harder," Mitch's voice was slightly muffled by Scott's skin. He sighed in contentment as Scott's fingers resumed working in his hair again. "I know I just said you're good at blowing me, but your dick sucking skills have _nothing_ on you playing with my hair."

Scott's laugh lit up the whole room, or maybe Mitch was just a little lovestruck.

"Guess I'll just have to keep practicing then."

"You'd better."


	31. XXXI

Mitch was surprised that he'd never been in the palace gardens before. They were gorgeous, and _massive_. All enclosed within the walls of the palace, but open to the sun, the garden was overflowing with basically any plant that Mitch could think of. There were trees dotted all around the park—because it was easily as big as any park Mitch could recall visiting during high school field trips—and paths cut through the boxes and soil plots and flowerbeds. Birds flew between the trees and chirped along to the song of a gentle afternoon breeze. Scott seemed especially fond of the flowerbeds, and kept pointing out all the different types of flowers and regailing Mitch with stories of a young Scott terrorizing his sisters' attempts to grow bouquets. Mitch made a mental note to look into flower tattoos sometime later and try to talk Scott into getting a matching one.

They passed Avi, watering some tomato plants growing in a boxed plot, with a wave. Mitch felt ridiculously giddy to be holding hands with Scott in front of someone else. Down in the under-city, all of Mitch's past relationships had been publicly acceptable, but now that he'd spent so much time in the palace worrying about Scott being safe and happy, he was just overjoyed that Scott was ready for the little display of affection. It was only Avi who could really see them, but still. Mitch was _so_ proud.

Scott had sat them down on a bench as they watched the birds and Avi across the garden, still clutching Mitch's hand and rubbing his thumb over Mitch's fingers. He was halfway through a story about the time he, as a child, had discovered that bees could _sting_ the grubby fingers of a curious little prince when he froze with his mouth hanging slightly open.

Mitch's first thought was that Scott had realized he was holding hands with Mitch in front of someone, but when he hesitantly went to move his hand away, Scott just gripped his hand tighter. Mitch trying to take his hand back seemed to remind Scott that he was there too, because he lifted his other hand to point across the garden.

"Is that..." Mitch's jaw dropped to match Scott's.

Avi seemed to notice the sudden silence and odd behavior of the two even from several plots down, and Mitch watched him turn to see what Scott was pointing at. "Oh, I call him Charles. He likes to pop in every now and then and chase some of the birds around."

Mitch turned his wide eyes to Avi. "He comes here often?"

Avi shrugged before returning to his plants. "He does what he wants. I tried to give him some milk once, but he turned into a grumpy little dude so I've pretty much left him alone since."

Mitch turned his eyes back to the cat licking its paw under the shade of an orange tree and started to laugh.

"I think I should be more surprised," Scott released his hand to pat on his lap and try to call Wyatt over. "But seriously? If any cat was gonna be able to casually rotate between chasing birds in a palace garden to chilling on the windowsill of an apartment _seven_ _levels_ below, it would be him."

Mitch reached down to run his hand down Wyatt's back as the cat twisted himself between Mitch's legs. The cat didn't seem very interested in them though, because after a brief relocation to Scott's lap, he jumped back down and strutted his way behind some bushes and out of sight.

Mitch wormed his hand back into Scott's as they sat in a stunned silence for a few moments. Scott turned his head to gaze down at Mitch, and slowly lifted their rejoined hands. Mitch felt a giddy bubble rise in his chest as Scott pressed the back of Mitch's hand to his lips. He knew his expression was about as gooey and starstruck as the one on Scott's face, but he couldn't really make himself care about how stupid and cheesy they looked. Mitch pressed his own kiss to the back of Scott's hand and watched as Scott's smile stretched even farther across his face.

"We probably look kinda stupid," Scott had a little twinkle of humor in his eyes as he pulled Mitch back to his feet and restarted them on their stroll.

"I don't particularly care." Mitch pressed himself into Scott's side.

"Me neither." Scott swung their arms gently. "Just was a little surprised that you didn't make fun of me for it."

"I can't really, considering I'm guilty of the same crime."

Scott jerked to a halt in the shade of a small grove of trees, and his grip on Mitch's hand tightened. "You aren't guilty of any crime— _nothing_ , you aren't— _not a crime_."

"I know, Scott—"

Okay, in all fairness, it wasn't the best joke to have made considering the events of that week, but Scott's sudden panic was _more_ than a bit concerning.

"Sorry, just, _Mitch_ —"

He was engulfed in a tight hug. Mitch wound his own arms around Scott carefully and propped his head on Scott's shoulder as he waited. He could feel Scott taking shaky breaths from where his nose pressed against Mitch's neck, and he rubbed Scott's back gently as he did his best to radiate a calm presence.

"I'm okay, Scotty. It's alright, everything's fine."

Scott mumbled something into his neck, but Mitch couldn't quite hear him from where he was smooshed against him.

"Sorry, what?"

"Don't wanna lose you."

Mitch pulled back so he could see Scott better. "Maybe we should go talk somewhere else."

There was no argument to that, and the walk back to Scott's room wasn't necessarily hurried, but definitely a direct path. Once the door was shut behind them, Mitch swung around and tucked himself back into Scott's arms.

"You aren't gonna lose me. I'm safe, and I sure as _hell_ don't plan on going anywhere. Except maybe home soon, 'cause I wouldn't mind getting some more clothes."

"How are you still okay? Like, after Monday and everything? I keep panicking that you're in trouble, or—or that _they_ got you..."

Scott looked slightly terrified again, so Mitch led him over to the couch and sat them both down.

"Well, I wouldn't say I'm _great_ , but I'm fine because I know I'm safe. _Especially_ when I'm with you. Are _you_ alright, Scott?"

"I just keep thinking about what—what _could_ have happened and, and if Matt hadn't been there I wouldn't have even _known_ and—"

" _Breathe_ , Scott."

Scott cut himself off to take a breath. Mitch took the opportunity to turn and get comfortable facing Scott. He figured they might be chilling there for a while.

"Is it just the 'what if's that are bothering you? Or is there something else?"

"I think... I think it's mostly me being ridiculously attached to you. But I think I also, uh..."

"Also?" Mitch couldn't quite catch Scott's eyes.

"You're gonna yell at me for being a dumbnut."

The little bit of humor wasn't very assuring. "I promise I won't call you a _dumbnut_."

Scott met Mitch's eyes for about half a second before dropping his gaze again.

"I kinda feel guilty about it—"

" _Scott_ —"

"—and I know that it wasn't my fault but it was still _my_ parents that did that to you, and—and I could've worked harder on making it safer down there but I _didn't_ but maybe if I had—"

Mitch leaned forward and pulled Scott back into a hug.

"I just don't want you to hate me..." Scott said in a small voice.

Mitch might cry again. _God_ , Scott had been carrying around all that anxiety and guilt the whole week and Mitch hadn't even noticed.

"I could _never_ hate you. You know I don't blame you at _all_ for this, right?"

"Yeah... but like..."

"I'm not calling you a dumbnut, because I _get_ the anxiety and the destructive thoughts. But Scott, please don't carry it around with you. Talk to someone. You can always come to me, and you bet your ass that you could talk to Kirstie, or Avi, or Esther, or Kevin, or—"

"Okay, _okay_. I get it." A small twitch at the edges of Scott's mouth was promising.

"Or what about those interns! From Modernio! I guarantee they'll listen—"

" _Mitchy_ , stoooooop."

"Alright!" Mitch dodged the wiggly fingers reaching down towards his stomach. "Are you feeling a bit better now?"

Scott sighed and leaned back, looking far calmer than he had when they had sat down. "Yeah, actually. I wouldn't mind just taking it easy for a bit, though."

"Wanna watch a movie?"

A movie evolved into two movies, which evolved into Kirstie joining them, which turned into Scott playing piano while Kirstie sang along with Mitch trying to out-belt her, and eventually they gave up trying to pretend that they weren't all feeling nostalgic and they ended up eating pizza and trying to talk themselves out of having wine for lunch.

Mitch leaned back on the couch as he watched his two best friends revisit the ongoing pineapple pizza argument and smiled.

If, a year ago, someone had told him that he would be sitting in the palace watching the king lay on the floor and argue with Kirstie over the proper toppings for pizza, he would have laughed in their face. If they had also told him that he was so in love that he could almost feel an ache in his chest every time he saw Scott's eyes light up or heard that bubbly laugh warm up a room, he may have outright walked them to a therapist's office.

But he couldn't deny how stupidly happy he was. He didn't catch how sappy he was being until he felt the tears well up in his eyes.

"Mitchy, what's wrong?" Scott was crawling up next to him before the first tear even fell down his face, and Kirstie wasn't far behind as she slid over on his other side.

"N—nothing," he choked out between his half-laughter, half-sobs, "I just love you guys so much."

"Aww, Mitchy..." Kirstie pulled him into a gentle side hug and rubbed his arm soothingly as Scott tucked his head onto Mitch's shoulder, a kiss pressed against Mitch's scar before his cheek replaced it, and wrapped his arms around him too. "You're such a sweetheart."

Scott nodded on his shoulder. "The biggest sweetheart I've ever met."

Mitch knew she was going to say it before he even heard it.

"... _big_ , you say?"

The tears very quickly turned into giggles at the slightly confused, then stunned, then gleeful look on Scott's face.

"Well, maybe I should rephrase that—one of the _loudest_ sweet—"

" _Scott_ , oh my god, shut _up_!" Mitch elbowed Scott off his shoulder to the chorus of laughter from both sides.

Mitch got his compensation for their teasing not very long after.

Esther's voice was muffled slightly by the door, but Avi's snickering was still clear enough for Scott to groan in anticipation as he let them in.

"Are all three of you—oh good." Esther scurried over to the couch with Avi still giggling at her heels.

"Mitch, this is gonna be _so funny_ —" Avi was cut off by Esther's shushing.

She leaned forward from her perch next to Mitch to show him and Kirstie the screen of the tablet she was holding, while Scott leaned over the back of the couch.

"Is that..." Kirstie glanced up at Esther at the series of pictures of her and Scott in a park at night. The pictures were dark, but clear enough that they could see that Scott was talking to Kirstie. As Esther scrolled through, Mitch could see how they must have been taken in a rapid procession, because he could see how Kirstie's face lit up as her hands flew up to cover her face. He recognized how she was probably squealing and nodding at the hopeful expression on Scott's face.

"Apparently," Mitch was starting to grin at Esther's smirk and Avi's continued giggles, "you and Scott were sighted together a week ago, and there were photos of you taken together."

Kirstie nodded along at Esther's explanation, still a bit wary, and Mitch imagined Scott's face to be pretty similar too from behind him.

"The media must have recognized Kirstie from other times you were spotted together, so they put a—not unreasonable, I suppose to an outside observer—plot to the pictures—"

Mitch gasped as he realized where this was going. "They _didn't_ —"

" _They think Scott proposed to Kirstie._ "

Mitch and Avi were rolling on the ground in tears, with Esther not far behind them as Scott spluttered in shock and Kirstie's jaw hit the ground. Mitch was wheezing as he watched Scott piece together what was happening from his new spot on the carpet.

"They think I— _what?_ No, 'cause that was when I said— _Mitch_ , not _Kirstie_ —"

"They started coming up with _baby names for_ —" Avi finally caught his breath enough to gasp out a few words before the idea of it sent him and Mitch back to the brink of hysterics.

Kirstie met Scott's shocked eyes and started giggling slowly, until she was laughing just as hard as the rest of them as Scott still stood there frozen and gaping at the four people in front of him, clutching their sides and gasping for air.

Kirstie grabbed Esther's arm. "Did you tell Ben? We _have_ to go tell Ben! Oh my god, he's gonna think it's hilarious, come on!"

Mitch finally got a chance to catch his breath after he watched Avi's unbalanced staggering as he laughed and tried to keep up with the frantically giggling girls tearing out of the room.

He turned to Scott and did his best to keep a straight face as he asked, "Do you think Wyatt would make a good ring bearer for the wedding, or does that only work with dogs?"


	32. XXXII

Mitch pulls back slightly, just enough to disconnect their lips. "Hey, Scott?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you think Kirstie would want me as one of her bridesmaids or would you prefer me to be a groomsman?"

Scott's eyes flew open and stared at him for a second, taking in the feigned look of innocence on Mitch's face, before Mitch was shoved back upright over Scott.

"I cannot _believe_ you—"

Mitch giggled and propped himself up on Scott's shoulders for better leverage.

"—right now, of all times, too. It has been _hours_ and it's not even funny."

"Well, I beg to differ—"

"I swear I will go take a cold shower right now and you can sit here and be miserable and horny all by yourself."

"Noooo, Scotty—"

Scott grunted and resumed his hip rolls up to meet Mitch's grind down. "Someday... Just you wait, Mitchy."

Mitch smirked. "Mhm. Like you'd ever pass up an opportunity for sex."

"...And you would?"

Damn him. Scott knows how addicted Mitch is to him, but that smug little grin on Scott's face would almost be enough to convince him to pull off and walk away—if it didn't make the delicious heat growing in his gut tighten.

Mitch settled for rolling his eyes before dropping his head down and letting his eyes slide shut to better savor the feeling of Scott's cock rocking into him, brushing teasingly against his prostate. He felt one of Scott's hands slide down to his hips when he started to increase the pace.

"Nuh uh. If you're gonna bully me then I get to come first."

Mitch whined and tipped his head back up. Scott's grin was still there, and oh _boy_ did that suddenly make him all the more desperate.

"But, _please_ Scott—"

"Not yet."

" _Oh_ —" Mitch gasped as Scott's hand, the one not preventing him from speeding up more, wrapped around his cock and started slowly stroking.

Scott's pace was staying steady, but Mitch could feel Scott's taut abs, the slight tremor in his thighs behind him. See how his gaze was almost unfocused as he stared up at Mitch with his mouth slightly parted.

"God, Scott. _Shit_ —please, oh _god_ —" Mitch babbled.

"You like it when I do that?"

Mitch's breath caught in his throat as Scott twisted his wrist at the top of his slow dragging pull on Mitch's cock. " _Yes_ yes yes, _Scott_ —"

Scott groaned low in his throat.

"Oh _oh_ — _please_ , please come Scotty? You feel so good in—in me—" Mitch panted out. "Please come for me, _in me_ , please—"

" _Mitch_ , oh my _god_ —" Scott's hips stopped and Mitch pushed his down quickly as Scott's eyes squeezed shut and a shudder ran through him. _Yes_ , Scott. Mitch moaned at the sight underneath him.

Scott sucked in a long breath and then his eyes opened as he fought for breath. The hand on Mitch's hip suddenly tightened, forcing him to stay seated on Scott's cock, as the hand leisurely jerking him off picked up speed.

" _Shit_ yes _yes_ , _Scott_ yes please oh— _oh_ —" Mitch panted as his frantic heart pounded in his chest and ears. His hands gripped Scott's shoulders desperately as he felt the heat rising. "I'm gonna—"

"Your turn now, Mitch. Go ahead. Come for me."

" _Yes_ , _Sco_ —" He couldn't quite get Scott's name out before a ragged gasp tore out of him and the tight coil released. He clung to Scott as he shot over Scott's chest, shaking at the waves of sweet pleasure burning through him. It took him a minute before he could see clearly again, let alone gently lift himself off Scott so he could lay down next to him.

"I've gotta say," Scott still sounded breathless, "Kinda love this whole boyfriends thing."

Mitch snorted and accepted the offered washcloth. Kudos to Scott for thinking to grab one before they started, 'cause Mitch was _not_ putting weight on his shaky legs for several hours and the way Scott was rearranging himself on his pillow suggested he didn't want to either.

"You wanna throw this into the bathroom?" Mitch held out the washcloth and watched as Scott perked up excitedly.

"A blowjob says I can get it in the sink."

"Go for it."

Scott groaned and flopped back as the damp cloth smacked onto the tile counter and slid off onto the floor.

Mitch laughed and pulled the blankets up over them. "You know I'm still probably gonna blow you, right?"

"But it's not the _same_."

Mitch patted Scott's arm consolingly. An idea from before popped into his head as he traced the slightly freckled skin. "What are your thoughts on getting another tattoo now that you're king?"

Scott quirked an eyebrow. "I'm... open to suggestions, I suppose?"

"You know what would look really hot?" Mitch glanced up at Scott's curious expression. "A flower sleeve. Or half sleeve, maybe? Like monochrome black, just a bunch of scattered flowers."

Scott actually looked pretty intrigued by the idea and tilted his head down. Mitch could see him picturing it under where his hand kept tracing.

"Actually—do you want to draw some ideas?"

"Me?"

"No, the other guy I'm in love with—yeah, _you_." Scott settled back down on the bed, pulling Mitch closer. "Kirstie may have shown me some of your old sketchbooks—don't be mad at her!" Mitch's narrowed eyes were not particularly soothed by that. "They're _really_ good. I'd love to see what you could come up with."

Mitch would whine about the sketchbook snooping, but the prospect of designing a sleeve for Scott... Mommy likes.

"I can see you planning it already."

Mitch shrugged. "Maaaaybe."

"I can't wait. Speaking of things I can't wait for," Scott looked pretty eager for whatever it was, "I have to go around the country in a few weeks to visit different districts and meet with a bunch of people. Hear me out—"

This boy was full of ideas.

"—you should come with us. I don't know when you were planning on leaving Modernio before you start with Candice, but if you were thinking _sooner_ , you could probably come on the trip between jobs. The whole gang is going: Avi, Esther, Nicole, Kevin, Matt, Ben, Ryan, Kirstie—"

"Kirstie?"

Scott looked a little confused. "Well, yeah? What did you think she meant by 'starting an apprenticeship with Nicole ASAP?"

"She's _what?!_ "

Scott winced. "Oops."

"No, no, no." Mitch poked him with each "no". "You do not get to clam up now. Spill, girl!"

"Kirstie's gonna work with Nicole for a while for more experience. She was talking about maybe opening her own salon or something someday, but _please_ don't tell her that I was the one that told you if it was supposed to be a secret."

Mitch covered his mouth with his hands. "My little baby! All grown up and starting her own business?!"

"Well, it was just an idea so far—"

"She's gonna be the _best_ beautician in the entire _world!_ She's gonna be famous! Do you think she'd let me be her first customer?"

"I don't see why not." Scott was grinning at him with those crinkly eyes again that Mitch literally melted under. "Thoughts on the trip?"

Mitch landed a short kiss on the tip of Scott's nose at his hopeful gaze. "I'll look into the shit-show of quitting on Monday and see how soon I can get out of there. How long is the trip?"

"Just a week, I think. Esther probably knows way more about it than me, so you could badger her for answers."

Mitch grinned. "Sounds like a vacation is in the works."

Scott pulled him in for an excited kiss, but it quickly devolved into them lazily making out. "We're never gonna fall asleep at this point," he whispered between presses to Mitch's lips.

"You can sleep when I'm done kissing you."

"But that could be _years_ away," Scott teased.

"You'd better count on it."


End file.
